


What I Need

by kowai_no_ouji



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal, High School, Izuo - Freeform, Lemon, M/M, Shizaya - Freeform, Unrequited Love, Yaoi, drrr - Freeform, drrr!! - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kowai_no_ouji/pseuds/kowai_no_ouji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a girl confesses her feelings for Shizuo, he's forced to come to terms with what he wants, and what he needs. What is he supposed to do when what he wants and what he needs both happen to be Izaya Orihara? Highschool AU. NC-17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What I Want

Izaya was being chased into the front entrance of Raijin Academy, shoes clicking against tile, squeaking around every sharp turn, leaving marks on the floor for Shizuo to follow. Students accustomed to this daily occurrence no longer looked on with anything more than a passive interest, because the outcome never changed.

Izaya never got caught.

It was as the two teens were ascending the second story stairs that it happened. A group of girls huddled together at the top were the only witnesses to the blond brute growling with unbridled fury as he lunged himself at the raven-haired boy, promising a slow death and baring his teeth.

"Ew," one of them whispered behind her hand, cringing a little.

"He's scary."

"Needs to calm down, don't you think?"

"Dangerous…"

The comments were trivial, something Izaya would've paid no heed to if it weren't for the quick flash of shame that darkened his pursuer's face and slowed his momentum.

It was such a quick, brief reaction, but it was enough to get the wheels of his mind turning. There were few ways to destroy a monster like Shizuo Heiwajima, but if anyone were to accomplish such a feat, it would be Izaya Orihara.

Which brought him to his present situation…

The late afternoon sun was merciless upon his head, fueling his impatience for an answer.

The girl before him looked up, mocha eyes confused. "What?"

Izaya withheld a sigh in an effort to appear amiable. Forcing a smile that rendered his request casual, and therefore not strange or ridiculous, he repeated, "I want you to date Shizuo Heiwajima." Not feeling this was enough, he added, "Of course I'll compensate you for your efforts, ne."

Money wasn't an issue. He didn't care what it cost. It had to be _this_ girl. Standing just above five feet, she was unarguably pretty with shoulder-length chestnut hair, a small nose, heart-shaped mouth, and gentle almond eyes. Personally, her chest wasn't to his standards, but he didn't think Shizuo cared about details like that. As long as she was cute and innocent, at least appearance-wise, she was perfect.

And it really was just appearance-wise. She had a reputation for being quite greedy, as was evident by the sort of men she targeted. Some would call her a gold-digger, or whatever sort of label that came with the stigma of wanting lots of money. Izaya didn't care. All he knew was that she was the easiest sort of human to manipulate, and that's all that mattered.

She crossed her arms, considering his offer. "How long is this supposed to go on for?"

"As long as it takes for him to become enamored with you. It shouldn't be difficult. Shizu-chan is extremely deprived of female attention."

She looked displeased. "Is he ugly or something?"

Izaya's smile fell into the vicinity of a sneer. "Does it matter?"

She shrugged, glancing away. "Not really."

"Then we have a deal, ne?" He offered his hand, the gesture professional and final.

She took it, shaking it softly. "And all I have to do is make him like me and then break up with him, right? No kissing or anything?"

"Ne, Mari-chan. I wouldn't ask the most despicable of humans to do something so disgusting."

* * *

Shizuo sighed, pulling himself from his desk as the final bell announced the end of the day. He was drowsy, something to do with the spring weather and being bored as hell. He wasn't in a huge rush to get out, and he followed behind the crowd at a respectable distance. Unobtrusive and quiet, simply observing the excitement going on around him as girls huddled together, sharing with each other the chocolates they were planning to gift some lucky guys.

Valentine's Day had never been something he'd been included in, and today was no different. It just pissed him off. He'd long since abandoned any sort of hope that some girl would show an iota of interest in him. It didn't matter anymore.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the girl ahead and ended up knocking her aside. Whatever she was holding dropped to the floor, and Shizuo paused to pick it up.

It was a tiny bag of homemade chocolates, wrapped in cellophane and labeled with a holographic heart that read in plain text: Orihara-kun.

He stared at it, wondering how much effort this girl put into making these chocolates, how much tenderness and affection were encased in each tiny candy. And to think that it was all to be wasted on the flea.

Containing the impulse to crush the chocolates and toss them like a missile through the window, Shizuo handed them back to the girl, issuing a gruff, "Sorry," before moving on.

He was no one's damn hero; it wasn't his job to save these stupid girls from the heartbreak they'd experience when Izaya took their gifts, toyed with their feelings, and then destroyed their self-worth, all for the sake of his twisted entertainment.

Even if he tried, it's not like they'd listen anyway. These girls were ten times more afraid of him than they were that fuckin' pretty-faced flea.

The locker area was near vacant when he arrived, and he took refuge in the momentary silence. Opening his locker, his eyes followed the tiny folded paper that flipped out and onto his shoes.

With careful, suspicious fingers he unfolded it, reading once, twice, three times its contents before narrowing his eyes in distrust.

_[I'd like to speak with you. Meet me behind the gym after school.]_

Each word was written with soft, light strokes that curled and curved in ways that were plainly feminine, which immediately gave Shizuo reason to suspect the invitation even more.

Girls did not write him notes. Especially not ones with pretty writing like this.

No, this reeked of Izaya.

Crumbling the paper and tossing it away, Shizuo slammed closed his locker and turned in the direction of the gym where he was going to find the flea and beat the shit out of him.

* * *

Leaning against the gym's outer wall, Mari waited quietly. She'd been standing there for close to a half hour and her feet were starting to hurt. She wanted to go home, and would've seriously considered it if Izaya weren't paying her so much to go out with whoever this Shizuo was.

As was normal in situations where one was bored, her imagination started to get the better of her, and she tried drawing a mental image of what this guy was gonna be like. Izaya didn't say much about him other than that he hated him and that the guy was a monster. She didn't know what that was supposed to mean, exactly. Was he hideously deformed? Mean? Maybe both. In any case, she was told that he was blond and smoked like a chimney, so she assumed that he was at least a punk. Definitely had to have a bad attitude.

However, the blond that stepped into her line of sight a half-hour later definitely wasn't what she was expecting. No, not _at all_.

He kind of just stood there, looking at her, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, before shaking his head and approaching, the look of raw fury that had been present on his face dissipating within an instant to make way for a charming shade of pink.

"Hey, uh…" Stopping awkwardly before her, he avoided eye contact as he asked, "Have you seen a guy around here? About this tall," he lifted a hand to his hairline, "Black hair, real skinny?"

A small smile lifted her lips, and she tried to lean into his line of sight, but he kept avoiding her. "Nope, sorry."

"Oh." Honey-hued eyes finally dared a glance at her, and that pink deepened beneath golden skin. "Alright. Never mind."

As he turned away, she reached out and pinched his shirtsleeve, halting him. Immediately he stiffened. "I wanted to talk to you, Heiwajima-kun."

Shizuo's mind sort of drew an abrupt blank, flat lining under the shock. Mechanically he turned to face her. "Huh?"

Thin, perfect brows lowered over full-lashed eyes. "Didn't you get my note?"

It was a unique sensation, feeling overwhelmingly flustered and tremendously suspicious all at the same time. But there was no way Shizuo was about to accept that this girl, this incredibly _cute_ girl, had seriously asked him out here. Not after seventeen years of having girls like her avoiding the likes of him. There was just no way.

"Did he ask you to do this?" Was his immediate response, as it was the only question that made any sort of sense.

"Who?"

"Izaya." Just saying the flea's name aloud ushered forth a resurgence of that formidable anger, and he clenched his teeth to hold it back so as not to scare the girl. Glancing around, his eyes scanned his surroundings, scrutinizing every tree, bush, and building for any sign that the bastard was lurking behind it, laughing his skinny ass off.

"Orihara-kun?" She asked with a slight shake of her head, feigning the perfect amount of confusion.

Shizuo studied her expression for any sign that she might be hiding something, but couldn't hold her gaze longer than a few seconds, once again besieged with embarrassment. "Forget it."

Releasing his shirtsleeve, she coyly smiled behind a curled hand. "You're a little awkward, aren't you?"

Pocketing his hands, he sighed, trying to quell his nerves. "Look, if this is about wanting me to talk to Shinra for you, I should let you know that I don't do that matchmaker shit, so—"

"That's not it, Heiwajima-kun."

The blond paused, not sure what he was supposed to glean from this situation. If she wasn't here to tease him, and she wasn't here to ask him for help talking to Shinra, then…

"Did I break something?" It wouldn't be the first time he was forced to pay for damaging another student's personal property. He never did it on purpose. It just sort of happened. Chasing Izaya, he sort of forgot to pay attention to what exactly he used as artillery against the louse; cell phones, textbooks, desks…

It took a practiced actress to procure on the spot the sort of blush that bloomed on soft, pale skin. Mari glanced shyly at her shoes, reinforcing her role as a shy, innocent schoolgirl. "No, it's nothing like that. I, um…" Reaching into her schoolbag, she pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package.

It was with a sort of numbed surprise that Shizuo watched her hold the gift towards him, her small hand trembling quietly.

"I made these for you, Heiwajima-kun."

It took a second for Shizuo to regain control of his body, because for a moment he felt pulled out of it, like there was no way this could be real. "This really isn't some joke?"

Mocha eyes lifted to meet his, unwavering and resolute. "I'm serious."

Somehow, he believed her. With hesitant, shy fingers he accepted the chocolates, noticing the way she relaxed, a small smile curling pouty, cherry lips.

He stared at the gift, studying the way she'd carefully written his name in that same pretty handwriting that was on the note. There were so many things he could say, _wanted_ to say, but the only thing he could muster was an inelegant, "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why me?" It just didn't make any sense. Girls were terrified of him. They cringed when he walked by, skirted around him nervously in the halls, whispered horror stories behind their hands…

Her heart did a funny little jump as that look of flustered incredulity returned to his face. This _really_ wasn't the type of guy she'd been expecting from what Izaya had told her. She was starting to wonder if Izaya had ever even looked at the guy. There was no way this was the same 'monster' that had the raven-haired man shaking with such bitter disdain. She sort of regretted the fact that she was going to end up hurting him in the end.

"Well, I…" her face grew incredibly red, expression stressed, before finally surrendering to a soft sigh. "There are a lot of reasons."

Uneasily scratching his temple, he looked away, discomfited with how warm his face was feeling. "I, uh, don't really date."

"Oh." She grew quiet, clearly disappointed.

Feeling a little guilty, he clarified. "It's just, there's a lot of shit I have to deal with."

She nodded, her smile absent. "I see."

Izaya had warned her that this might be his reaction, and so she was prepared. All he needed was a little convincing.

Lifting her eyes to meet his, she asked, "Would one date be asking too much?"

 _Damn it._ Withholding his frustration, Shizuo swallowed the sigh threatening to fall from his tobacco-deprived lips as he considered the situation.

His entire life he'd never gone out with a girl. Hell, he couldn't really remember even having much of a crush on anyone in particular. All of that shit was supposed to happen in high school, right? Part of the whole experience of growing up and whatever.

It was just his whole damn life since entering Raijin indisputably revolved around Izaya Orihara. He couldn't piss in the damn bathroom without checking over his shoulder that the flea wasn't there, taking pictures like some creepy-ass pervert, threatening blackmail.

And when he found out, because he would, there'd be no stop to the amount of harassment this girl would have to endure.

And then there was his whole monster-strength to deal with. This girl, she looked so fragile. Fuckin' bird bones. He wasn't sure if he had the sort of control required to even be _near_ someone as delicate as her.

All of that was already a lot to consider, but none of it was even the main issue.

The _real_ problem, well…

Like he said, he was dealing with a lot of shit.

Meeting her candy-sweet gaze, Shizuo sighed. Seventeen years without a girlfriend _was_ pretty pathetic, and it wasn't like he'd get a chance like this again. Even _he_ wasn't stupid enough to turn his back on a rare stroke of luck. Why the hell shouldn't something good happen for him once in a while?

"Can I think about it?"

* * *

It was a quarter after four when Izaya's cell chimed from his coat pocket. Pulling it out, he flipped it open, only after confirming the identity of the caller.

"Ne, Mari-chan, I expect you have good news?" He asked, smirking into the receiver as he turned the corner off of a busy Ikebukuro street and onto a less crowded one.

"He said he'll think about it," she replied, bluntly.

Izaya paused. "He didn't say 'yes'?"

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "No, he said he'll _think_ about it. I don't know, maybe I'm not his type or something."

Izaya's eyes narrowed, annoyed with her tone, and that his plan hadn't gone accordingly all thanks to Shizuo's infuriatingly knack for being as unpredictable as ever. "You're his type," he assured her. "Shizu-chan just doesn't know how to behave around girls. Consider yourself a pioneer."

"Lucky me," she said, all sorts of unenthused.

Continuing on his projected path towards a crowded neighborhood, Izaya asked, voice demanding retribution, "You did put effort into it? Because if I find that you spoke to him like you speak to me, consider our deal finished, Mari-chan."

The sigh on the other end was exasperated. "I know how to work a guy over, Izaya."

"Orihara-san, please," he corrected coolly. "And keep in mind Shizu-chan has never dated before. Don't be a slut, ne?"

Her offense was evident in the length of pause. "You know, I don't know either of you that well, but you seem a whole lot more of a disgusting monster than he does, _Orihara-san_."

"Hn," Izaya's smile turned derisive. "Telling me I'm worse than Shizu-chan. That really is a horrible insult, Mari-chan. I should warn you to watch your mouth."

"Whatever. It's not like you're paying me to be your friend."

"I would never be so stupid."

"Jerk," she mumbled, before finally asking. "Alright, so what do you want me to do? Just wait until he gives me an answer or something?"

"That's exactly what you'll do."

His phone closed with a satisfying snap, and he pocketed it beside his flick blade, glad that he no longer had to be exposed to the torture that was Mari-chan. Honestly, why was it always the cute girls that had the most despicable personalities? If Shizu-chan had somehow been acute enough to detect Mari's true persona, then it was no wonder he'd turned her down.

He'd probably deny it, but Izaya had a good idea that Shizuo had standards that were impossible to find in this day-and-age. There was something adorably depressing about the fact that the protozoan probably got off on the idea of cuddling up with some cute, innocent girl who was saving herself for marriage and flushed crimson at the mere thought of holding his hand.

_Pathetic._

Making one last turn onto a street that shouldn't be as familiar as it was, Izaya made his way towards a certain home.

He needed to have a talk with his Shizu-chan.

* * *

The sun had sunk low enough that it was no longer visible through the crowded skyline of Ikebukuro. Rusty rays of sunlight clung to the sides of buildings, as if the sky itself was not yet ready for the day to be over.

Shizuo Heiwajima didn't share that sentiment, part of him resenting today because it had been different. He was a being that appreciated simplicity, took comfort in the usual. So what the hell was he supposed to do now?

It wasn't like tomorrow he could just wake up and pretend like nothing had happened.

This present he was holding, this small package of heart-shaped chocolates, was as much a burden as it was a gift.

Her name was Mari. A year below him, just turned sixteen. And she liked him.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He didn't like thinking about tomorrow, the future. It didn't suit him. Sort of depressed him, and pissed him off. All that shit about choosing your own destiny, deciding how your life plays out; he didn't buy into it. It was decided years ago that a normal life wasn't in the cards for him. Screw what he wanted. And now the universe was mocking him with this girl.

He should've just been honest. What the fuck was he doing leading her on like that? There was nothing to discuss, nothing to think about. He knew exactly how all of it would eventually pan out.

He'd end up hurting her, and hating himself for it.

And it was all that fuckin' flea's fault.

"You're late, Shizu-chan."

That voice, light, teasing, unmistakable and haunting, pulled Shizuo's attention away from the dirty sidewalk.

Izaya stood before him, leaning casually against the outer gate to the Heiwajima residence. Sunlight, now a seductive blood-orange, highlighted the teasing curve of a smirk, exaggerated raven shadows, and intensified the omnipresent tension as wine-colored eyes met hazel. The air between the two buzzed, invigorated, the atmosphere sharpening its focus, the sun their personal spotlight, the world their stage.

"The hell you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, ne?"

Shizuo narrowed his eyes, every twitch of his fingers warning danger.

And as usual, Izaya responded the way he _shouldn't_ , drawing himself closer, reveling in the raw power threatening murder in that monstrous, leonine-gaze. "I have something for you." And his eyes flashed playfully upwards. "Shizu-chan likes chocolate, ne?"

Shizuo glanced at the bagoverflowing with homemade chocolates in Izaya's hand, and gritted his teeth. "I don't want your leftovers, flea."

Shrugging, Izaya forced a pout, setting the bag next to the garbage. "Won't Shizu-chan accept my feelings?"

The blond glanced around, making sure there weren't witnesses, as Izaya pulled himself even closer, snaking a slender hand up his arm, smirk widening.

"It must be hard being so disgusting," he murmured, running the back of his knuckles against Shizuo's wrist, raising his eyes beneath black lashes. And then he smiled, the expression pleased, malicious. "Tell me, Shizu-chan. Were you lonely?"

Something in his chest tightened uncomfortably in response to the touch, and he stepped away from it, moving his eyes to the ground. "Touch me again and I'll fuckin' kill you."

"Will you?" Izaya challenged, eyes glinting mischievously. "With your cute little brother watching?"

Shizuo's attention moved towards his house, searching the door and every window for Kasuka. Distracted, unease delaying his reflexes, he was one second too late noticing Izaya had snatched the chocolates from his hand. " _Oi!_ " He shouted, reaching out to grab them, growling furiously as Izaya, always one step ahead, ducked and danced out of his reach. The point of a blade bit into the front of his chest, and he was forced to pause, snarling murder.

Izaya smirked at him, holding the bag of chocolates up to inspect them. "To Heiwajima-kun, love Mari," he read aloud, smirk transforming into the most sickening of smiles. "How cute. She even drew a little heart."

"Give it back, Izaya," Shizuo demanded, knocking the hand pressing the knife to his chest away, effectively slashing open his shirt and giving himself a nice cut.

Blood flowed freely, crimson tainting the crisp white of his shirt, dampening his chest. He ignored it, the fresh sting of pain an afterthought, his attention wholly on the raven-haired teen before him.

The arm he managed to wrap his hand around was thin, just like the rest of the flea, and he was somewhat surprised by how firm the muscle that hardened in resistance beneath his palm felt as he pulled him closer.

Surprise wavered in that crimson gaze, Izaya obviously underestimating Shizuo's speed and his ability to overtake. The blond was ready this time, and he caught the other hand that was poised to slash open more of his skin, holding it firmly above their heads, the two caught in a ridiculous, violent embrace that was sure to incite the concern of any curious neighbors.

"You're so rough, Shizu-chan," Izaya said, close enough to the blond that his breath fell against the other's face with every word. "Is Mari-chan aware of how violent you are?"

"Shut up," Shizuo growled, tightening his hold on Izaya's arms.

Izaya smiled, pressing himself closer until their chests brushed, feeling Shizuo's blood seeping wet and warm into the front of his shirt. "You're not doing either of us any favors, Shizu-chan. What if someone sees us? They're surely to get the wrong idea, ne? Then we'll never be able to escape those rumors."

"The fuck are you talking about, flea?"

"You haven't heard?" Looking directly into warm, caramel eyes, Izaya murmured, dropping his voice to a seductive low, "The entire school thinks we're fucking."

Something plummeted into Shizuo's gut, a weight heavy and dark. Staring into cherry-tainted eyes, he searched for any sign that the flea knew something he shouldn't. That no one should.

His heartbeat began to pick up, jumpstarting to an alarming pace, adrenaline rushing through his veins, anxiety clouding his ability to think, to speak.

No, Izaya couldn't know. He was just saying shit to piss him off. Shit that was hitting way too close to the mark.

"Bullshit," he replied, voice a low rumble, struggling to keep calm.

"It's true," Izaya lied. "They think our fighting is nothing but a front to mask our lust for each other. Disgusting, ne?"

Apparently the shock had affected his strength, loosening his fingers, his ability to hold onto anything, including any sense of calm and rationale.

Izaya easily pulled his arms from captivity, only to wind them carelessly around Shizuo's shoulders, pulling himself closer to trace warm lips against the blond's ear. "As if I'd ever let a beast like you fuck me."

But Shizuo was barely listening, the sound of Izaya's voice almost entirely deafened by the thudding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

That lithe body pressed further against him, slender arms and long fingers brushing his shoulders, his back, the smell of expensive shampoo, something delicate but masculine flooding his senses.

It was starting, and he could do little to stop it.

Heat rushed into his face, burning beneath his skin, blood scorching and hot. It was so damn hot.

_Fuck._

Izaya hesitated, sensing that something was wrong, that the tenseness he felt in those strong shoulders wasn't anger, but something else, although he had no idea what that could be. He was encroaching on dangerous territory being this close to Shizuo. It was a rare opportunity indeed, considering the few times he'd been this close in the past it hadn't been for longer than a second before the beast was thrashing to crush his skull into the pavement.

He really should stop, for it was only a matter of time before the protozoan imploded, likely destroying himself and half the neighborhood in the wake of his fury. However, Izaya was having too much fun with this game to simply stop, as was usually the case when around Shizuo.

And this really _was_ a wonderful opportunity that was presented before him. So many past curiosities were being answered as he pressed himself closer into that warm, hard body, lifted a hand into that bleached hair.

 _Soft_ , he thought, a little surprised by how much like silk the strands of gold felt between his fingers.

"They can't be blamed, ne? Shizu-chan has never shown interest in a girl before, it's really no wonder everyone thinks you're, well, not gay, per se, just desperate to stick your cock in my ass."

"That's not—" The word caught in Shizuo's throat, choked to silence.

"Hn?" Izaya finally pulled back to look at Shizuo, momentarily stunned, utterly mystified by the expression on the blond's face. He was so flushed, floundering in clear embarrassment.

 _Get it the fuck together,_ Shizuo commanded silently, urging his body to cease its trembling, for his breathing to steady, his heartbeat to slow. _Stop. Please god, just fucking stop._

But it just wasn't going to happen. Izaya was way too damn close.

"Get the fuck away from me," he finally managed to growl, hoping to god that Izaya mistook his odd behavior as anger. Anything. Anything than what it really was.

Thankfully Izaya wasn't suicidal, and the flea took Shizuo's warning and extricated himself, stepping back and returning his blade to his pocket. "No need to get feisty, ne."

_Breathe._

It sounded ridiculous, but this was so much easier in the winter when just breathing hurt, the air sharp, each inhale a blade against his brain, his chest. He could concentrate on that, focus on that pain. It was easy.

But this damn spring weather was so warm, the world suspended in a state of calm, the atmosphere carrying with it the subtle scent of blossoming flowers and tasty foods.

And it was so much harder to distract himself, the weather betraying him, taunting him as the soft breeze blew raven strands of hair across that teasing, feline-pretty gaze. The heady heat from the setting sun giving that smooth, pale skin a delicate flush.

That infuriating smirk found its place once more on that mouth.

That mouth.

Shizuo moved his gaze back to the sidewalk. _Fuckin' breathe._

"Is Shizu-chan not curious as to why I'm bringing this up?"

"Don't fuckin' care," the blond bit out.

Izaya shrugged, not that Shizuo was looking at him anymore to notice. "Well, I do. It's annoying. I have a reputation, ne. I can't have my admirers thinking I'm sucking your—"

Izaya was just quick enough to dodge the fist that plummeted towards his face, just barely missing his cheek to crash into the wall of stone guarding the small yard of Shizuo's home.

The most thrilled smile lit up his face, the black-haired teen exhilarated. This was always his favorite time of day, seeing Shizuo lose it.

"Stop saying that shit. I don't give a fuck what people think of me, and I really don't give a fuck what they think of you."

"So mean," Izaya sighed, shaking his head in mock upset. "I'm just trying to be diplomatic about this. I suppose it's my own fault for even considering it possible to have a mature conversation with a protozoan like Shizu-chan."

Seeing that the more he spoke, the harder Shizuo's fists clenched, Izaya took a precautionary step back before continuing.

"I won't do anything to cute little Mari-chan," Izaya suddenly promised.

Shizuo finally looked at him, the broken skin on his knuckles the temporary reprieve he was searching for. "What?"

"If you decide to go out with her, I won't interfere," Izaya expounded. "It's a win-win, ne? No one will question your sexuality, and my reputation will remain intact." He silently patted himself on the back for improvising such an ingenious little lie.

Shizuo remained quiet as he considered the offer.

He honestly didn't care what others thought about him or his sexuality. It's not like it affected his life in any sort of way. People would still continue to avoid him, girls would just have one more reason to.

No, what was important was that this thing, all this shit he was dealing with, it needed to stop.

He just couldn't deal with it anymore. He was tired. Tired of wanting something he wasn't supposed to, something he would never be able to touch.

Mari-chan, maybe she was the salve he needed. The perfect distraction.

Because that's all anyone else could ever be. Not a solution, not an alternative, simply a distraction, someone that could temporarily help him forget.

With a resigned sigh, Shizuo lifted his gaze back to Izaya's, the heaviness he felt whenever he looked at the skinny louse returning with a vengeance that dragged him down, made him feel exhausted.

The sun was nearly gone, the streetlights beginning to flicker on as the stars above slowly began to expose themselves against the blanket of darkness.

Up above the moon cast its glow on the world, on Ikebukuro, on this empty street, its light lazily sweeping over everything with dim disinterest, most of its attention focused on illuminating pale skin, and sharp, crafted features.

His eyes fell once more to that mouth, the graceful curve of a slender neck, following the outline of lean shoulders, and a lithe frame, before moving back to eyes that were watching him with quiet anticipation, almond-shaped and dominant.

The most he'd ever be allowed was to feel the back of his knuckles against that face, the force of his anger wrapping rigid fingers against that frame. Never gentle, never soft, never pleasant.

This was his reality, and he wanted to forget it.

"Alright," he agreed, turning towards his home. "Fine."

He ignored whatever it was Izaya had to say, not wanting to hear him sound pleased, not wanting to see him satisfied.

Fate could not be changed, his life was already mapped out in permanent fucking marker. This feeling was always going to be there, sitting like a rock in his gut, making him feel like shit, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

He just wanted to forget about it for a little while. Just wanted to not hate everything for one second.

Mari-chan liked him, and maybe he could come to like her too.

It was never going to be the same, never as deep-rooted, and substantial a feeling, but it'd be something.

Just _something._

He needed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Hello! Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter of what is going to be my very first Shizaya multi-chapter fic. And I promise it IS a Shizaya fanfic. Not a Shizuo/OC.
> 
> Also, I should warn you all now: this story will contain LOTS of graphic sex (Shizaya sex), so if that offends you, turn away! I am a pervert, and I'm not afraid to show it. (There will also be fluff and flirting and blood and fighting and all that lovely stuff.)
> 
> Please review! All comments are appreciated!
> 
> Until next update!
> 
>  
> 
> **~Merry**


	2. Blood Promise

The fact of the matter was, Shizuo _did_ care what people thought of him. Not because he was concerned with shit like being popular, hell, even being _liked_.

No, the reason was simple. If others were suspicious of his feelings for Izaya, then it was only a matter of time before the flea became suspicious, and Shizuo couldn't allow that to happen.

So yeah, maybe it was a shitty thing to do, using Mari to dispel this rumor that he was thirsty for the ass of the school's most sought after male student. But he wasn't a good person, and no matter how much he wanted to be honest, he just couldn't afford to. Not about this.

This situation wasn't ideal, but it was something.

And so the following morning, Shizuo decided to wake with his alarm for once and make it to school before the start of his first class.

He had no idea what class Mari was in and Raijin Academy wasn't small, so he waited near the entrance, perching himself on the steps, itching for a smoke and forcing himself to ignore it.

Crowds of students filtered in through the front gate, each one another pair of curious eyes. He always assumed such glances were because of the shocking blond of his hair, his notoriety as the beast of Raijin. Now, however, it was something else.

_The entire school thinks we're fucking._

Shizuo's teeth creaked in their cavity as his jaw tensed, fingers crimping his pant leg as he avoided those accusatory stares. He felt violated in a way, disgusted with the fact that these people passing him by might have envisioned what it looked like for him to be fucking Izaya. Despite it being nothing but pure invention of the student body imagination, this rumor was encroaching one step too many into personal territory. The image of Izaya Orihara naked, spread under him and panting his name was _his._ The fact that it was now shared with hundreds of others quite simply pissed him off. And if there was one thing a person must never do, it was piss off Shizuo Heiwajima.

The next asshole that dared even peek at him was about to find themselves punted into space.

It was just as Shizuo was about to do just that when he spotted Mari heading towards the entrance, cell phone open and fingers working fastidiously. She was so focused on her phone, that she didn't notice Shizuo standing on the front steps until he called out a gruff, "Hey."

She looked up, brown eyes bewildered. "Heiwajima-kun?"

A few surrounding students lingering around the entrance glanced their way, no doubt curious what the poor girl had done to cull the attention of Raijin's most formidable student. A few even so dared to look at her with pity.

Shizuo growled in disgust, wanting to thrash out at those looking at Mari like she was doomed prey stupid enough to step into the lion's den. As if he'd ever lay a harmful hand on a woman. Fuck them.

"I thought about what you said."

Something brightened in her eyes, and she took an eager step closer, clutching her phone to her chest.

Shizuo never pegged himself as being shy, but damn, he felt it right now. The way she was looking at him all excited, just…

He sighed. "The thing is, I'm still dealing with something."

The light in her eyes dimmed, his words a forecast for rejection.

And although it was just a job, and if he turned her down then the worst that would happen was that Izaya would throw a hissy fit and not pay her anymore, Mari still felt a little let down. "So, it's a no, huh?"

"It's not a no," he refuted. "But it's not a yes."

He really wished he didn't have to do this here, before the watchful eye of the student body, but he needed others to see. He needed a witness to attest to the fact that Shizuo Heiwajima had agreed to go out with a girl. He needed to end this rumor about him and Izaya, and if exploiting this burgeoning relationship with Mari was the only way to do it, then so be it.

"If it's one date, then alright, but I can't promise anything more than that right now."

Pocketing his hands, he waited for her reply. Somehow, he expected her to look way happier about his answer, but instead she was just looking up at him with a sort of studying gaze. It was a look that reminded him of the one Shinra had when he did or said something the guy considered exceptionally interesting. It made him self-conscious.

However, that look, whatever the hell it was about, only lasted for a moment before breaking into a brilliant smile. "Perfect! Here, I'll give you my number, okay?"

After promising he'd contact her sometime during the weekend, Shizuo watched Mari turn to leave for class. It was when she reached the top of the stairs that he called out to her.

"Hey."

She turned, this time her expression curious.

Not wanting anyone else to hear what he had to say, he closed the distance so that only she could hear, his nearness causing her heart to flutter a little.

"Apparently there's this rumor going around about me and—" A flush of red bloomed on his cheeks, and he avoided her gaze, "Izaya, and I want you to know that it's not true, alright?" God fucking help him if he was actually blushing right now.

"Rumor? About what?" Mari observed as that sprinkle of red flowered into patches of wildfire on Shizuo's face.

Like hell he was about to get specific. His words a near vicious sounding growl, Shizuo stormed off into the school, throwing over his shoulder a firm, "Don't worry about it."

Blushing…

_That goddamn flea._

* * *

Izaya Orihara prided himself on many things. Aside from being granted the looks, wealth, and intelligence that set him leaps and bounds above the rest of mankind, he also held the advantage of knowing things before anyone else. Perhaps it was thanks in part to the vast network of contacts he'd amassed over the years, an assemblage of acquaintances, blood relations, never-were-girlfriends, criminals, friends (although he used that term loosely), and those with the power to get things done.

Knowledge was power, and Izaya Orihara had a wealth of both.

It was an unspoken rule, a personal promise that anything worth knowing, he knew, and he knew before anyone else.

So it was absolutely unacceptable when anything of importance reached him late, _especially_ when said information involved Shizuo Heiwajima.

The problem was that one of the links in his network was obviously in need of some severe improvement.

This was the second strike on Mari's record. One more faux pas, and game over. Izaya could only allow so many missteps from his underlings.

He found her right before her scheduled lunch period, filtering into the hall behind a gaggle of over-perfumed girls wearing too much makeup. The four of them sauntered ahead, purposefully walking with added sway in their hips in an effort to appear enticing, their skirts rolled high above the knee, as if anyone in this damned academy cared to know what their underwear might look like.

It was tacky, which was why it made sense for Mari-chan to involve herself.

_Birds of a feather…_

Pulling a pencil from the pocket of his jacket, Izaya flung it at Mari's back. It ricocheted off and onto the floor, spinning near her feet. She paused, looking about for whatever had been tossed at her. Almost immediately her eyes met his, and he motioned for her to come to him before stepping into the empty classroom to his right.

"I, um, I'll be right back. You girls go on ahead," she called to her friends, already heading back to her classroom.

"Close the door," Izaya ordered as soon as she entered.

Doing so, Mari leaned back against it, her arms folding across her chest in a sign of impatience. "What is it? I'm hungry, so this better be—"

"Is your phone broken, Mari-chan?"

"What? No, why—"

"Then tell me, ne, why it is that I've just only heard the news of Shizu-chan agreeing to date you _minutes_ ago, after the rest of the school?"

Something dangerous flashed in Izaya's eyes, a threat of punishment should she anger him more. In response, Mari grew defensive. "It's not that big of a deal. I was going to tell you at some point."

Wrong thing to say, apparently. The next thing she knew, Izaya had her pinned to the spot she was standing, his arms bracketing her body against the door.

"It is a big deal," he countered. "I am not paying you to have fun. You have a job to do, and honestly, your performance is subpar."

Exhaling her frustration through pink-glossed lips, she argued, "I got him to go out with me, so I don't know what you're complaining about."

"Then let me enlighten you," he sneered, vindictiveness drenching every syllable. "Shizu-chan only agreed to date you because _I_ intervened after your pathetic attempt the first time. So before you fool yourself into thinking you deserve even an ounce of credit, let me remind you that none of this would've happened without _me_. However, I can do nothing to help you should and when you slip up again if you do not _communicate_ with me."

Like being punched in the gut, Izaya's words were an instantaneous blow to her ego. "What do you mean you intervened?"

Dropping his arms, Izaya stepped back, afraid he might choke on the cotton-candy stench emanating her person. "I told him the school thought we were fucking."

Disbelief crinkled her brow, and she looked at the beautiful boy before her with an expression akin to disgust. "What?"

Izaya could've rolled his eyes. Sometimes she was so dense, he wondered if she was in fact the protozoan's destined soul mate."Shizu-chan would do anything to dispel such a rumor, ne? And it was my suggestion that if he wanted to save his reputation, and mine, not that he cared, he should date," Izaya directed a slender finger her way, "you."

Pretty, mocha eyes narrowed. "So he's using me?"

Izaya smirked. "Disappointed?"

"No," she lied, not wanting to admit that she felt a little wounded. "But isn't all of this pointless if he doesn't actually _like_ me? This is a waste of time if he's just going to break up with me first."

"Which is why this date of yours is the opportunity to redeem yourself," the raven-haired teen advised.

Mari sighed, feeling a little unconfident, not that she was about to let Izaya know. He'd fire her for sure if he thought she wasn't capable, and she had an inkling that he wouldn't forgive her should she screw up a third time.

The thing was, there seemed to be something different about Shizuo Heiwajima. He wasn't like any of the other guys she'd pursued in the past. It wasn't just his strength, which she had yet to witness firsthand, his hair, his attitude, or any of the other obvious reasons that one might consider him divergent that troubled her. There was something she couldn't identify, but knew existed because her intuition screamed it did. Something that told her that charming him was going to be an impossible task.

Honestly, the entire job was more trouble than she would've liked, but what Izaya was paying her would solidify her status as a grade-A idiot should she quit.

Her only option was to just try harder. Shizuo Heiwajima was a man, after all. All it took was the right combination of giggling, fluttering her lashes, and showing her assets to win him over.

Straightening her shoulders, she answered with a strong, definitive, "Fine."

"Fine?" Izaya repeated, shaking his head. "No, that won't do. Obviously you need guidance. I want you to tell me your plan of action."

The assurance in her posture wilted. "I don't know; we haven't even made concrete plans yet. He just said he'll contact me sometime this weekend."

It was very difficult to not sigh. Izaya knew he needed to rein in his glaring dissatisfaction for the girl less he wanted her to give up the task entirely, but it was proving to be exceedingly difficult and wearing on his patience. He was busy, and he had things to do. How was he supposed to schedule his life around 'sometime this weekend' and 'I don't know'?

Shizu-chan lived in the present. It was imperative that any plans with the beast be made on the spot, and none of the responsibility shucked into his lap. Especially considering how unenthused he already seemed to be about the prospect of dating Mari, Izaya would allege there was very little chance Shizuo would make good on his promise to contact her over the weekend. It was detrimental to give the monster that much time to mull things over. He'd just think up more and more reasons why he shouldn't date the girl, spending hours talking himself out of it.

"Do you think I should send him a mail?" She suggested, taking her phone from her bag.

"No, it's only been a few hours, and contacting him now would just make you appear clingy. I'll handle it."

Mari's ego flared in opposition, sharpening her tongue. "You mean you'll _intervene_."

Izaya smirked, absolutely unsympathetic to the girl and her situation as he moved towards the door, the barb of his gaze pressuring her to step aside so he could leave. "And let this be the last time. I really do not enjoy having to see Shizu-chan because of your incompetence."

Mari released her relief through a heavy exhale when he was finally gone, wondering just what the hell she'd gotten herself into.

* * *

Laid out on the roof of the school, Shizuo Heiwajima blew another stream of smoke towards the sky, enjoying the quiet of his daily smoke break, the hour he was supposed to be in physical ed.

He wasn't sure why the academy didn't get it. It was a bad idea to keep imposing the class on him when he couldn't even participate without causing another student bodily harm. The last straw had been a game of volleyball, which all things considered should've been relatively safe considering the ball was foam (a precaution he'd bet was made just for him). Still, somehow he'd managed to break the nose of some poor kid, all because the heat of competition made him hit the ball a little too hard.

And all that was in addition to the fact that whatever _idiot_ was involved in the creation of student schedules had deemed it permissible to put Izaya-fucking-Orihara in his class.

Not that the flea ever showed up for the class either, probably deeming organized physical exercise and team sports beneath him. Hell, he wouldn't involve himself even if the coach surrendered his whistle and gave him sovereignty over the class.

A small smile quirked Shizuo's mouth as he envisioned the hell that would break loose if he and Izaya ever did decide to show up. Raijin could definitely kiss their sports equipment goodbye, that was for sure.

So lost in his reverie, Shizuo paid no heed to the door opening somewhere behind him. It wasn't until a dark shadow loomed over his form, blocking out the sun and his view of the sky that he looked up to see who had intruded on his personal time.

"You look happy."

"Yeah well, you don't wear glasses cause you can see."

Shinra smiled. "No, but I do wear them to _help_ me see, and I can see that you're in a good mood. Did something happen?" He asked, taking a casual seat next to his friend on the grey concrete.

Crushing his cigarette at his side, Shizuo pulled himself up, rubbing the dirt off the back of his head. "Are you just pretending like you haven't heard the news or do you really not know?"

Thin lips curled in a shrewd grin. "What I've _heard_ is that you're dating some girl, and she's pretty. What I _know_ is that in all the years I've known you, you've never been interested in anyone other than—"

"Well it's true," Shizuo interrupted, not allowing Shinra to finish. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I'm not dating her, just going out with her this weekend. It's different," he explained gruffly, searching his pocket for another cigarette and lighting it, needing something to busy himself with less he wanted Shinra to notice just how uncomfortable he was talking about this.

"Does Izaya know?"

The cigarette nearly bent in half between Shizuo's fingers. "Probably."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"S'not like it'd make a—" He took a firm drag, filling his lungs with black smoke, exhaling heavily, shaking his head, continuing to avoid Shinra's inquisitive gaze. "I don't give a shit what that bastard knows."

Shinra wasn't sure why Shizuo still tried so hard to keep up this façade of indifference whenever Izaya was brought up between them. It was no secret to Shinra what was really going on in Shizuo's head, although it did make sense considering his character why he'd have difficulty saying any of it aloud.

_Baby steps_ , Shinra reminded himself.

"So she's pretty?" The spectacled teen probed.

The mess of gold hair bobbed as the blond nodded, issuing a smoky, "Yeah, real girly too. It's kinda weird."

"How so?"

Broad shoulders shrugged. "Don't know, just is."

Shinra nodded. "I suppose it would be alien to you considering the lack of female presence in your life."

"My mom is female," Shizuo argued.

"Well, that's different. Would you say your mother is 'girly'?"

Shizuo thought about it. He didn't see his mother much as a result of her work requiring her to travel away from home most days out of the year, same as his father, leaving him to primarily take care and raise Kasuka. But when he did see her, he was never struck by an overwhelming sense of her being _girly_. She wore minimal makeup and preferred darker clothing, such as navy pantsuits or jeans. She had a very strong presence, nothing like the froufrou atmosphere that seemed to perpetuate his surroundings whenever Mari was around.

"No, but neither is Celty."

An agreeable smile glanced Shinra's face, his eyes staring off, seeing something Shizuo couldn't.

"How are things going with her anyway?"

Bringing up Celty was always a good way to distract Shinra, something Shizuo took advantage of way too often. It seemed to be the only way to get Shinra off his back about Izaya, a topic he would never, even if they'd been friends for a hundred years, be comfortable discussing.

"Oh, you know, wonderful as ever."

"She still not interested?"

That smile saddened marginally, although Shinra tried to hide it behind a short laugh. "Well, give me a few more years and maybe she'll see me as more than a lusty teenage boy."

Shizuo answered with a small laugh of his own. "Good luck."

"It's not _me_ that needs luck, Shizuo," Shinra reminded pointedly, steering the conversation back on track. "My relationship with Celty may not be perfect, but at least I don't have to lie and hide my feelings."

"Don't fuckin' start, Shinra." The blond teen growled, sending his friend a burning look of warning.

"You should at least listen to my advice. I know Izaya. I can help—"

"No," Shizuo ground out, picking himself up, needing to pace and put some distance between them before his anger physically channeled itself at his fragile friend.

"What you're doing isn't healthy, Shizuo," Shinra continued, paying no heed to the volatile teen's warning.

The blond snorted. "Like I give a shit about what's healthy."

"But if you lov—"

The word had barely left the shorter boy's mouth before a firm hand clamped over it, silencing even his breath. Shizuo never laid a hand on him, and if he did, it was only because Shinra had dared to cross a line no one should.

"I don't," Shizuo swore, voice rumbling with unkempt ferocity.

"You don't what?"

Caramel eyes widened, surprise dragging with it the cold sensation of shock through his limbs as that oh-so-familiar voice drifted from over his shoulder.

Turning his face away from Shizuo's palm, Shinra warned, "Right now isn't a great time, Izaya."

Ignoring the shorter teen, Izaya skirted the rigid blond to tuck his hands over Shinra's shoulders, latching on like a child would the pant leg of a parent when frightened, knowing full well that Shizuo would never attempt to harm him as long as Shinra stood between them.

"It's not fair that Shizu-chan gets to have you all to himself for an entire hour. I was lonely," Izaya whined.

"Don't say gross things," Shinra responded, trying to shrug Izaya's hands off to no avail.

"Was Shizu-chan talking about me?" Izaya continued, moving his eyes to his kind-of friend.

"Yes, actually," Shinra answered, honest as ever.

" _Shinra_ ," Shizuo rumbled ominously.

"Mean things?"

"Not—"

Once again the bespectacled brunette found himself with that same palm over his mouth, but now sandwiched between Raijin's two most dangerous students and his closest friends, both of whom seemed to have forgotten he existed as their nearness constructed a world wherein only the two of them remained. _Really, so rude._

"Really, Shizu-chan? You finally have something interesting happen to you, and you're still moaning about _me_? Your new little girlfriend is going to get jealous," Izaya commented behind a smirk.

_Shit._ Leave it to Izaya to be observant as ever. "The hell do you want?" Beneath his palm, Shinra struggled to speak, the words an undecipherable muffle of sound. "If you came to start shit, I'm not in the mood."

"I came to talk to you, ne?" Izaya answered expressly, eyes relaying a purpose. "Preferably alone, if you believe you can behave yourself."

"That's up to you," Shizuo cautioned, heart energized and pounding in response to the invitation. Two days in a row, alone with the flea, and not feeling forced to play chase. He must've done something good to be rewarded like this, even if such encounters made the ache that much worse.

"I can play nice," Izaya promised, eyes glinting mischievously, flashing sharp canines and looking everything _but_ nice. "Can you?"

"Dunno." Shizuo offered a smirk of his own, appearing every bit a charlatan pacifist, a wolf in sheep's clothing. "Guess you'll have to risk it."

"It's not fun unless there's a little risk involved, Shizu-chan."

Simultaneously, the two released their hold on Shinra, who made quick of his escape, understanding he wasn't wanted and wouldn't be acknowledged even if he did stay. When those two saw each other, there was no distracting them.

They could call it what they wanted, hate or whatever, but Shinra recognized it for what it was, even if they didn't.

"Don't forget to use protection," he advised, half way into the exit, shielding himself behind the steel door just in case one of them decided to hurl something his way.

Apparently his comment went right over their heads as Izaya pulled out his flick blade, readying it at his side. "Don't concern yourself, Shinra."

"Not what I meant."

Silence pervaded the roof-turned-arena following the departure of their mediator, perhaps the only person in the world other than Kasuka that could stand between Izaya and Shizuo and not come to inadvertent harm.

"Put the knife away and we'll talk," Shizuo ordered, his voice a throaty entreaty that sent resultant waves of excitement down Izaya's spine.

"Hn, I don't think so."

Tawny eyes tightened under dark lashes. "You said you wanted to talk, Izaya."

"And I do," the raven-haired teen replied, ulterior motive absent from the dulcet tone of his voice. "But I'm not stupid enough to rid myself of protection should you come at me like a rabid dog off his leash."

Only if one were looking closely would they notice the way those words made Shizuo flinch. "Don't trust me, flea?"

"That goes without saying, doesn't it?"

Except it didn't, because Shizuo would never harm a damn hair on Izaya's head unless he felt he had to, and that was only to maintain this game.

"Whatever." Tossing his cigarette to the ground, he snuffed it out beneath the sole of his shoe. "What's this about?"

"I wanted to speak to you about Mari-chan," Izaya began.

"Yeah? What about her?"

"She seems to think you're not interested in her."

The itch of suspicion narrowed hazel eyes. "And how the hell would you know that?"

"Because I spoke to her, of course," Izaya admitted as if sharing the daily forecast, knowing full well such an admission would enrage Shizuo to the point of placing himself in immediate danger.

And like a puppet following the command of its puppeteer, Shizuo's fists curled, knees bending, ready to strike. "You said you wouldn't fuckin' interfere."

Izaya paused, expression that of a devil. "Perhaps you shouldn't trust me either, Shizu-chan. I just need to make sure you're planning on going through with the little deal we made, ne. Mari-chan doesn't have much confidence that you will."

"Don't worry 'bout that."

"But I am. Like I said, I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about us."

Shizuo's smirk was forced, but hopefully Izaya wouldn't notice. "The only ass pounding they're gonna hear about is the literal kind, flea."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

"You know, the best promises, Shizu-chan…" Daring to move closer, drawn to the beast, entranced by the tremor of strength quivering beneath the stretch of bronze skin, Izaya only ceased his advance when he felt that one more step might be his last. Rose-hued irises lifted to meet honey-nectar gold, glowing with the brilliance of an excitement he only ever felt when in the presence of this beautifully deplorable monster. "Are made in _blood_."

The sting of pain only came after the feel of his shirtsleeve dampening, rivulets of crimson winding a path down his arm, moistening the hand that flew up to defend himself, latching onto Izaya's jacket and using it to fling him onto the ground.

" _Fuck!"_ He cursed under his breath, hissing through the pain. The cut was deep, likely intentional considering this was Izaya and Izaya didn't do anything accidentally.

The black-haired teen groaned as his ass hit hard concrete, a position that lacked the grace he preferred to upkeep during their fights. However, such a position gave him the perfect opportunity to use those long legs of his to his advantage, and swinging his right forward, he managed to knock the towering blond off balance and onto the ground beside him.

Shizuo caught himself on hands and knees, the fall wrecking havoc on his kneecaps, sending tremors of pain up through his thighs, reminding him of the gash on his arm that would likely need stitches. Through the curtain of blond hair he could see the black form of Izaya moving in his peripheral, and Shizuo tensed, sensing danger but unable to detect where his assailant was going to strike. So he reached out, grabbing hold of whatever he could.

Izaya growled in frustration as rough, hot fingers curled into the back of his pants and pulled, dragging him nearer in a position that offered him little chance to break free. "Let go you idiot," he ordered harshly, gripping his knife tightly and slashing blindly behind him, satisfied when he heard the brute hiss.

"Damn it, Izaya, you're gonna fuckin' cut off my arm," Shizuo ground out through perfectly white, clenched teeth as the new slash on his forearm poured red and heavy onto the concrete. With a final tug on Izaya's pants, Shizuo managed to get the louse close enough to reach for that damn knife.

Izaya held it out of reach, grimacing as Shizuo's full weight pressed down on his back, blood soaking his jacket.

"The hell happened to playing nice?" Shizuo asked harshly, pinning Izaya's wrist to the ground with bloodied fingers and searching for the other.

Izaya laughed humorlessly as the blond brute succeeded in restraining his wrists against the pavement, his back twisted and legs outstretched behind him in a position that was so homoerotic, he wondered if Shizuo was trying to be funny.

This was not the first time the two of them had ended up in such a ridiculous position. Most days Izaya preferred simply playing chase, as it usually lasted longer and he came out with almost no bodily damage. But sometimes he was feeling a little frisky, and honestly nothing really got his blood pumping quite like feeling Shizuo's drip against his skin. This was so much more dangerous, and his one true indulgence.

"Nice is boring," Izaya responded, grimacing as his right cheek scraped against the ground, tenderizing his skin.

"You sound like you enjoy this."

Shizuo didn't miss the naughty smile Izaya flashed him, just before the bastard curled his back and pressed his ass against Shizuo's crotch.

"I might."

The asshole knew exactly what he was doing, and had pulled the same stunt enough times to know it would force Shizuo to release him. And the blond did just that as Izaya's ass brushed firmly against him once more, Shizuo relinquishing his hold on both pale wrists to put some distance between them.

Shizuo had barely pulled away before Izaya twisted around, lunging with the finesse of a panther, his momentum managing to force Shizuo onto his back, his head slapping concrete, the air leaving his lungs.

And then a scene from his worst nightmare decided to play itself out in this hell that was reality.

It began with the sharp press of a blade against his jugular, the edge biting into his skin and threatening to draw blood and welcome death should he so dare lift his head.

"Lay a hand on me, and I'll cut your throat, Shizu-chan."

And Shizuo could do nothing but stare, his body tensing and hot as Izaya moved to straddle his hips, his knees tucked up just beneath Shizuo's ribcage, his ass pressing firmly against his crotch.

"Where's your phone?"

"Find it yourself."

Using his free hand, Izaya dug the device out, flipping it open and staring at the screen curiously, a tiny smile curling his lips. "Does Kasuka-kun know how obsessive you are? Having you for an older brother must be traumatic, ne. Let's see…" Holding the phone up and leaning closer to Shizuo, Izaya said, "Say cheese, Shizu-chan."

"The fuck are you doing?" Shizuo asked with a throaty grumble.

"Changing your wallpaper to something decent."

"You're threatening to kill me for _that_?"

That quietly disparaging look returned to Izaya's face as his eyes met Shizuo's. "I'm going to send Mari-chan a little message."

Really, the flea was so damn insistent that this relationship happen with Mari that he was going through such great lengths…"I said I was gonna go out with her."

"Yes, but I don't trust you," Izaya responded coolly, typing away with his thumb, never letting up on the blade he had pressed to Shizuo's neck. "And this way, I can make sure you go somewhere public. It won't do me any good if you go out and no one sees you, ne. Defeats the purpose."

His phone snapped closed with a resounding click, and Izaya returned it safely to the confines of Shizuo's pant pocket before moving his attention to the blond beneath him.

Animated ruby eyes drank in the vision below him, the beast of Ikebukuro trapped beneath him, victim to his will. Those heated caramel eyes met his, the entirety of that deliciously lethal gaze on him and him alone. There was no one else in the world he could affect like he could Shizu-chan, and nothing he would trade him for.

Having accomplished what he needed to, it was now time to play with his favorite toy.

Relaxing his hips, Izaya exhaled quietly as he settled further onto Shizuo's lap, enjoying the feel of that deceptively destructive frame turning to stone. This was always Shizuo's response to a touch that was non-violent. The brute had no clue how to react, and Izaya enjoyed being witness to his discomfort.

Shizuo's jaw screamed in pain as he clenched it tightly, fighting his body and every nerve and sense to ignore the fact that Izaya was slowly grinding against him.

_This_ was the worst, a scenario wrought by the devil's hand. Shizuo moved his gaze to the sky above, trying to concentrate on the clouds as Izaya leaned further until their stomachs brushed, each inhale accompanying the soft press of that flesh.

"If I didn't hate you so much I think I _would_ let you fuck me." Despite the tease, Izaya's voice betrayed how this situation was affecting him, the usual provoking lilt a deeper, seductive pitch.

A jolt of heat directed itself straight to Shizuo's groin, and he swallowed as his throat convulsed in panic, his instincts not allowing him to forget the knife sliding against his neck, his brain refusing to ignore the beautiful teen straddling his hips.

He had to remember to play along, despite wanting nothing more than to grab hold of those hips and press himself harder against him. Izaya was just teasing him, trying to get a reaction. Shizuo couldn't allow himself to lose control less he wanted to lose everything.

"That's sick," he managed.

"Isn't it?" Izaya purred, rolling his hips back and eliciting a sharp intake of breath from his blond captive. "But bestiality is a little too adventurous, even for me."

"And I don't fuck fleas."

"You don't fuck anyone. Shizu-chan is a cute little virgin, ne?"

"Cute?" Shizuo would've dared a laugh if the action wouldn't bury one inch of blade into his neck. "That's a new one. Thought I was disgusting?"

"You are," Izaya assured smoothly. "But that has nothing to do with aesthetics."

The most Shizuo could risk was a cocked eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm attractive, flea?" His heart began to pick up pace, and it had nothing to do with Izaya's rolling hipbones.

"Like I said," the dark-haired teen murmured, lowering his mouth to Shizuo's ear, "If I didn't hate you, I'd fuck you."

_Shit._

Any remaining vestiges of control slipped away the moment those words were whispered into his ear, hot and inviting, a promise even if the flea tried to veil it beneath 'what if'.

"You have three seconds to get the fuck off me, Izaya."

"I don't think you're in any position to threaten me, Shizuo." As a reminder, Izaya pressed his blade harder against his neck, its streamlined edge drawing a razor thin line of blood.

"Three."

Feline eyes narrowed, and Shizuo could almost see him thinking, every thought flickering behind that clever gaze. And then he smirked. "I think you like it."

"Two." Shizuo's fist curled at his side, just as Izaya grinded against him roughly, as if urging him on, daring him to do it.

He didn't want to. He never wanted to harm Izaya if he could help it. The flea was one of the only people that Shizuo trusted himself around, felt somewhat in control of his strength, but that didn't mean Izaya wasn't breakable. He might not be as fragile as Shinra or Kasuka, but he was still human.

Which was why he only planned to shove Izaya off of him. Pushing him around was okay. He never broke anything, and he walked away generally unharmed.

But something in his brain short circuited as Izaya pushed back one more time, his ass nestling and squeezing against Shizuo's covered cock in a way that caused his body to scream with need, igniting a passionate thirst that roused an animalistic greed, sending shocks of heat between his legs.

One more roll of those hips, and Izaya was sure to feel him.

Shizuo panicked.

He saw it before he realized what was happening, before he could stop himself, and by that time it was too late. His fist collided with the right side of Izaya's face, bloodied knuckles imprinting themselves in smooth, porcelain flesh. Something caught in the cavity of his chest as he felt skin and bone collapse against his knuckles, like fine china taking the brunt of a wrecking ball.

The small weight sitting on his hips vanished as Izaya was knocked off by the blow, body flying hard and fast towards the short wall guarding the edge of the roof.

For a split, horror-filled moment Shizuo thought Izaya was going to end up over the wall, a fall he would never survive at five stories with nothing but concrete to catch him. Instead his back hit the barricade with a solid thud, his slender form collapsing onto the ground in a motionless heap of black.

The scrape of metal on stone was the last sound Shizuo heard before the buzzing started, a high-pitched sort of ringing, the bells of dread and concern his personal serenade.

"Oi, flea," he called out, voice thick with obvious worry.

Izaya remained silent and unmoving, and even from where he sat Shizuo could see the mark of crimson on his busted cheekbone.

With legs of lead, he went over to him, kneeling down to inspect the damage, making sure the flea wasn't feigning unconsciousness because that would be a very Izaya-like thing to do.

Using the hand that had put Izaya in this condition, Shizuo gently turned his head to get a better look at the wound, his heart plummeting into his gut that it was bleeding so heavily.

" _Shit."_

Pocketing the bloodied flick blade, Shizuo scooped Izaya into his arms as gently as possible, feeling all sorts of awkward and half-hoping the flea didn't regain consciousness before they reached the nurse, because he'd surely murder him once and for all. The prince of Raijin being carried like a princess through the halls by his sworn enemy was probably not something Izaya would be thrilled about.

Thankfully there wasn't a person to be seen as classes were in session, and Shizuo made as quick a journey as possible to the nurse with the delicate baggage he was carrying.

Izaya's head lolled against his shoulder, his uninjured temple resting in the crook of Shizuo's neck. Too late did Shizuo realize that his arm was still bleeding in two different places, his blood darkening Izaya's uniform and making the material stiff.

"Sorry, Izaya," he apologized quietly to the unconscious teen, counting on the fact he couldn't hear him, but hoping he might anyway. "I'm an idiot."

The flea felt so tiny like this, despite there being only a few inches difference between them. It was nice, in spite of the circumstances, to get the chance to hold him in this way. He was so damn thin and he weighed next to nothing, but just the knowledge that he was holding _Izaya_ was a weight in and of itself.

The nurse's office just up ahead, Shizuo indulged in one last private moment, turning his face towards Izaya's to brush his mouth against his forehead in an almost-kiss, for one instant entertaining the fantasy that Izaya was his, and he was conscious, and he liked stupid little forehead kisses.

Sighing through unsmiling lips, Shizuo shook his head, wondering if the blood loss could explain his behavior. Next thing he'd be dreaming about holding the flea's hand and tandem bicycling through parks.

Shizuo had been in the nurse's office enough times that he should know the woman's name by now, but somehow he had yet to memorize it. Probably because each time he walked in he wasn't in the healthiest mindset, and wasn't paying much attention to anything other than his pain and anger.

Ms. Nurse was sitting at her desk against the wall when he entered, looking up only when she heard him clear his throat.

Brown eyes widened, nearly bugging out of her head at the grisly sight presented before her.

"Heiwajima-kun, what…"

"I'm fine," he lied, but figuring whatever damage he'd suffered could be patched up quite easily with some ointment and a bandage. "Do you have somewhere I can put him? He got, uh, hurt pretty bad."

"The bed, there," she directed, pointing to the clean bed with folded down white sheets against the opposite wall beneath the window. "But take his jacket off first, if you don't mind."

Placing Izaya on the edge of the bed, Shizuo awkwardly worked the stiff jacket off of him before laying him back, making sure to carefully guide his head onto the pillow.

"What happened?"

"He ran into something," Shizuo lied, not even bothering to sound convincing. "Pretty hard."

"And you?"

He moved his attention to the woman standing at his shoulder. "Huh?"

She gestured to his neck. "You're bleeding."

Touching his neck, he realized that he was cut quite badly, the gash reaching from one side to the other. Seemed like Izaya wasn't lying. God knows how he didn't accidentally kill himself. "I fell."

She nodded, knowing that after all this time she'd not once gotten an honest answer out of him, and she wasn't going to receive one today. "What's his name?"

"Orihara. Orihara Izaya."

"Is he your friend?"

Shizuo looked down at the black-haired teen, a familiar longing in his gut. "No, he's not."

He paused, a huge part of him that gave a shit about Izaya wanting to stay until he regained consciousness. Knowing he couldn't, Shizuo turned away. "If you think he should have someone go home with him, in case his family can't get him or whatever, just contact Kishitani Shinra or Kadota Kyohei. They'll help him out."

Turning to leave, he paused when she called out to him. "I can't let you go back to class like that, Heiwajima-kun."

"I'm not going to class," he replied shortly, continuing on. "Just home."

"But the administration will want to know what—"

"It was my fault, alright?" He sent Izaya one last look, knowing that when the flea woke he'd be beyond pissed.

In all the time he'd known Izaya, for all the fighting they got into, this was the first time he'd put the flea in a hospital bed. And to be quite honest, it shook him to see Izaya hurt like that. Whatever punishment the louse planned to dish out in revenge, Shizuo had no problem accepting it. He'd let Izaya lacerate his entire body if it made that open cut on his cheek fade away.

It really sucked knowing you hurt someone you cared for, breaking the promise you made to yourself that you never would.

But promises were made by people, and Shizuo knew better than anyone that he was not 'people'. He was a monster, a brute, an animal, a rabid dog off his leash.

Maybe it was about time someone tried to put him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed! I appreciate all of the feedback!
> 
> **~Merry**


	3. Improbable, Impossible

Cigarettes weren’t enough. It was like handing a glass of water to a man that was starving. They used to be exactly what he needed, which was why he started the toxic habit in the first place. But one cigarette after the other, dawn to dusk, and no doubt he could smoke a warehouse full and feel no calmer. 

That was the problem with the human body. It builds up a tolerance over time, vulnerable to nothing but the bad shit. 

Even if he begged for it, he wouldn’t get cancer or any other tragic disease that normal people were afraid of. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a damn cold. Apparently the asshole up above that stirred the pot of fate and had a hand in the construction of his genetics decided to throw in an immune system just as formidable as his strength. 

Everywhere he went he was a bull in a china shop, constantly having to restrain himself, scared of his own actions.

Nicotine used to be able to soothe him. A few inhales of black smoke and all that built up rage would settle down and for a little while he’d be but a lazy lion swatting flies away with a brush of his tail. Well, _fleas_. 

But they didn’t work like they used to, and the only reason he kept the habit was because it was just that: a habit. Something to do with his fingers other than throw a punch. Busying his mouth, shutting himself up before he said something dangerous. 

And usually, that sort of worked. Throughout the years he found ways to keep his mind busy, a means to distract himself from his anger. But nothing was perfect, and Shizuo learned long ago not to put trust in himself. Just because he found a method of pacifying his rage didn’t mean it was foolproof. 

Today, he proved that. 

It didn’t matter what he wanted. Time and time again he kept failing, unable to resist the demon controlling his limbs, sneering at his conscience for even believing it had a god damn chance at being anything other than a monster. 

Shinra was right. What he was doing wasn’t healthy. Not for him, not for anyone. This _craving_ he felt for Izaya was not something he could just throw into a hole and shovel dirt over like it didn’t exist. Every time he saw him, hell even thought about him, that feeling clawed itself out from hiding with a vengeance that tore through him mercilessly. 

He was a mess, and during times like these there was only one person he felt understood him. 

The front door of his home slammed closed a little too forcefully and it was only when he was reaching for his phone that he realized he already had something in his hand. 

With a growl Shizuo flung Izaya’s bloodied jacket onto the couch, turning his back on the glaring reminder of his mistake.

He was surprised he could even mash out a coherent text with the way his fingers were shaking. Somehow he managed, and when he was finished he left his phone on the table by the door and went to wait outside, not trusting himself to be caged around so much breakable furniture. 

He heard her before he saw her, the sound of Shooter whinnying beneath the rev of an impeccably smooth engine. 

A vision in black leather, Shizuo really should’ve known better than to ask her to come out, aware that just a mere glimpse of her by the neighbors would cause a commotion. 

_Desperate times, desperate measures, right?_ Guess that was the excuse he’d be cashing in for today. 

The bike rolled to a stop at the curb, black-gloved fingers already typing expertly on her PDA. Dismounting, Celty moved to stand before her friend, turning her handheld for him to read. [What happened? You look awful.]

He really did look like shit. The least he could’ve done was change out of his uniform. The cuts on his arm had stopped bleeding, the blood already congealing like pureed raspberry jam, but the gash on his neck was still dripping and soaking his white collar. If it was an issue he’d be laying passed out on a sidewalk somewhere. For now, it was unimportant. “Later. Right now I just need to hit something.” 

Unlike Shinra, Celty recognized when to grill him and when not to. She knew him enough to understand that now was not the time. So instead of caving into her concern, she duly followed Shizuo around the outside of his two story home and into the compact backyard. 

Shards of broken pottery littered patches of dried grass, the remnants of the terracotta garden his mother attempted but never had the time to upkeep. Taking his place in the center, Shizuo readied himself. “You know the drill.” 

Standing with her back pressed to the fence, Celty removed her helmet, ribbons of black smoke curling from the place her head should be. 

Any other day she’d deny his request because she knew how much he hated being violent, and the last thing she wanted was to condone it. But today there was something wrong, as was made clear by the look in his eyes. Eyes that, despite his rage, always managed to preserve a subtle genteel. 

Now he wore the face of an animal escaped from confinement, and she knew that if he didn’t vent that fury the results would be disastrous.

The curtain of shadow fell to the ground in a pool of black, streams of shade winding their way towards the blond teen. 

Shizuo’s fingers rolled into tight fists as the obsidian plumage expanded and twisted into a bulky mass that stood level with him, the translucency of the soot-like vapor hardening itself into the cast of a human being with indiscernible features and a shell with the veneer of polished onyx. 

It wasn’t living, so it couldn’t feel pain. 

The only one feeling anything would be him, and he welcomed it greedily as he drove his fist into the thing’s face, knuckles screaming as the skin busted open against bone, the fragility of his human body laughably pathetic compared to his strength.

The muscles in his arm shuddered at the contact, pain ricocheting from his hand to his shoulder, the force of the blow pressuring the joints to shift out of place as the mass of shadow refused to give. 

Already his other fist was plummeting for contact, burying itself in the steel wall of the thing’s gut. Again his head clouded with pain, his senses on high alert as more skin peeled back from his fingers, shredded and leaking. 

Hit after hit was met with nothing but steely resistance, accompanied by the dull thud of blood-slickened skin hitting stone and the feral grunt of his breathing. Beneath his feet the soft ground began to crumble, dry dirt caking his shoes as his heels dug deeper for stability. 

The shadow mass was but a statue, an equal opponent if there ever was one, the only thing that he didn’t have to withhold himself from. 

And he was merciless, each blow bringing with it another onslaught of agony, the freshly spilled blood not even having time to cake itself into his skin before it was wiped off by another graze of his fist on a punching bag that felt like concrete. 

It was startling how effortlessly he could keep going, blood loss, pain, and exhaustion not even a potential threat when up against the brunt force of his self-hatred. 

In the shiny gloss of the figure’s head Shizuo caught sight of his reflection, stretched and distorted, a true monstrosity of a human. 

A guttural snarl tore free from his throat as he lunged forward, throwing all of his weight into a strike that cracked something in his hand. 

Ignoring it, he continued on, driving all of his frustration into his blows, the charcoal creature withstanding each one of them until sweat was dripping from his hairline and into his eyes, reminding him that just because he didn’t acknowledge fatigue now, his body would regret this later. 

But he didn’t want to stop, because it was working. With every hit he could feel that ache shift, his mind too focused on physical pain to be concerned with the other. 

This was the ultimate distraction for the ultimate price: his pride. 

Turning to violence like an alcoholic who clutched to the bottle, _this_ was simultaneously the bane of his existence and the crutch that helped him get through another day. 

And he was all the more pathetic for it. 

Heavy momentum drove another fist forward, however this time there was nothing to meet it as the figure dissipated upon contact into a plume of inky smoke. “Five more minutes,” he ground out, chest heaving with every breath, sweat stinging his eyes. 

He had to squint to see the PDA that was placed before his face as Celty moved to his side, a careful hand lying reassuringly on an aching shoulder. [Enough, Shizuo. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself like this.]

Shame darkened the already present flush on his cheeks, and he diverted his gaze to the broken earth under his feet. Abusing himself was one thing, but involving Celty in this was unforgiveable. “Sorry, I just—” He sighed, throat shuddering with every inhale, the image of Izaya lying unconscious momentarily resurfacing and causing him to grimace, “Had a bad day. Needed to take it out on something.” 

[What happened?]

He’d sigh again if it wouldn’t offend her. She deserved to know, especially after putting up with him in this state. Cracking a smirk that held no feeling, he asked, “Why do you and Shinra always act like you don’t know?” 

She typed away, the soft click of her PDA barely decipherable under the sound of his strained breathing. [Did _he_ do this to you?]

Shizuo could practically feel the disdain packed into that ‘he’. “It’s not his fault, Celty. I screwed up. I—” Again, he moved his eyes away, “Hurt him pretty bad.” 

[He most likely deserved it. Honestly, I don’t understand what you see in him. I don’t trust him, especially considering the way he treats you.]

The unfortunate thing when it came to speaking with Celty was that he couldn’t interrupt her. There was no such thing as changing the subject. “I don’t know, alright? Stop askin’.” Reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he lit it and inhaled the choking vapor hungrily. 

[There are other people out there. Better people.]

God, if he hadn’t heard this argument just about every damn day since Shinra spilled his secret to her. “I know that, and I told you it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.” With every passing second the pain in his hands worsened, the sting near unbearable. “I can’t help it.”

A burst of smoke issued from her neck in what was likely an expression of irritation, because all things considered he was explaining the situation with the coherency of a three-year-old child teaching astrophysics. [I just don’t like seeing you unhappy.]

He almost laughed. Really, when had she known him any other way? Discontent was his middle name. Day after day, he woke to nothing but disappointment, had to see it in the mirror every morning. 

“Thanks,” he replied softly, “But there’s nothin’ I can do about it.” 

Leather-gloved fingers hesitated, and he knew she was struggling between being a good friend and offering him the right kind of advice. [Maybe Shinra is right. Maybe you should try talking to him. Tell him how you feel.]

“I thought you two were my smart friends?”

Black-clad arms folded across her ribcage, an offended curl of shadow puffing from her collar. 

Some feeling returned to his smirk, and he sighed behind his cigarette. “He hates me, Celty, and even if he didn’t, Izaya would have no interest in someone like me. I’m just a freak that pisses him off.” 

Something about the way the usually strong set of her shoulders sagged only reinforced the fact that she pitied him. Hell, he’d pity himself too if he thought he was worth the effort.

[You’re not a freak. You’re a good person, Shizuo.]

“Good people don't hurt the one’s they care about.” 

[Bad people don’t care if they do.]

If only it was so easy.

Shaking his head and instantly regretting it as it felt his brain had been knocked loose due to the amount of blood flowing from different parts of his body, Shizuo commented with the nonchalance of a newscaster reporting a national disaster, “I’m tryin’ to move on, anyway. There’s this girl, Mari, I’m taking out Saturday.” 

This seemed to come as a shock to the dullahan, because she nearly dropped her PDA. [WHAT?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?]

“Just happened,” he shrugged, taking a long drag of his cigarette, trying to ignore the agony of his burning knuckles. 

[You don’t seem very excited.]

“I’m not,” he admitted, possibly for the first time. “She’s just…” 

She was just many things. Incredibly pretty, for starters, kind, probably honest and interesting and all that shit that anyone should want in a girlfriend. And yet here he was pining over the world’s biggest jackass. 

And Celty was trying to convince him he _wasn’t_ an asshole. Yeah, right. 

[She’s not Izaya.] Celty finished for him, her previous enthusiasm leeched by his disinterest. 

“Yeah.” 

Again, she hesitated, almost shyly showing him her handheld. [I think you should give her a chance. You never know what might happen. Things change.]

He grinned, the expression more wry than what he was going for. “Are we talking about me, or you and Shinra?” 

If she could blush, Shizuo would bet she’d be doing it now. 

He waved a dismissive hand as she began to type another message, already knowing where this conversation was headed and not wanting her to waste her time. “I get it, alright. I know. S’not like I don’t think about it all the damn time. But,” he pulled his cigarette from his lips and turned so that she could only see his profile, hoping that for once she wouldn’t be able to discern the look in his eyes, “It won’t change, Celty. I don’t think I’d go through all this if I thought it could.” As if to emphasize his point, he flashed her a view of his torn knuckles, the skin bright red and screaming in pain. 

This time he didn’t look at her PDA, because he could practically tell what was written on the screen. The same damn thing Shinra was always whining to know. However, Celty could be quite adamant when she wanted to, and he found the thing shoved under his nose. 

[Do you love him?]

Gently, so as not to break a device he had no way of paying for, Shizuo moved the handheld away. “The hell is with you and Shinra and that damn question?” 

[Why do you always refuse to answer it?]

“I don’t know the damn answer.”

[I think you do and you’re just afraid of it.]

“Yeah, well, maybe I have every reason to be.” The words came out much too harshly, but he couldn’t say he didn’t mean them. Fingers trembling, and not because of the pain, he inhaled the last of his cigarette in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. A wasted effort. “He hates me.” 

[You used to think you hated him, too.]

Did he? It felt so long ago. Back then his strength seemed a godsend, something the heavens had gifted him with just to take down the biggest asshole he’d ever encountered in his life. Those were the good old days, when the only thing he had to worry about was not damaging school property and getting home in time to make dinner for Kasuka. Nothing hurt except the physical shit, and that could be healed. 

Now he was all sorts of damaged in ways that couldn’t be mended with simply stitches and a prayer. 

And it was all because one day he noticed something about Izaya he’d never be able to forget.

“Guess I changed my mind.”

[What makes you think he won’t change his?]

Honestly, Shizuo had no idea what to say to that. No matter how much he liked to believe he knew how Izaya’s head worked, he really had no clue. But hope was a dangerous thing. It made the pain all the more unbearable when the end wasn’t what you wanted. 

It was something he couldn’t risk. 

A gentle buzz drew him away from his thoughts before they plummeted into depression and he watched Celty check a message on her phone before a comforting hand moved to his arm, grasping firmly and reclaiming his attention. [I need to go. Will you be okay?]

If that wasn’t a loaded question that came with one hefty answer. “Yeah.” 

Quietly he watched her put on her helmet, suddenly feeling awkward about the way he’d been behaving earlier and calling her out here when she was probably in the middle of a job. “Thanks, alright? I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. [You don’t frighten me, human.]

For the first time in what felt like forever, a real smile spread across his face. 

[But I am concerned. I’ll tell Shinra to come by later. Stay safe, Shizuo.] 

“Yeah,” he replied offhandedly, watching her leave. “See ya.” 

The house was dark when he reentered, the curtains drawn and making it feel much later than it was. 

The distance from the back door to the living room could be made in just a few steps as the home wasn’t large, which was fine as only two people ever seemed to live there. 

It didn’t feel lonely, however. It was one of those homes that was clearly lived in, even when no one was there. Tiny personal belongings decorated the coffee table, some old comics and a busted lighter he’d forgotten to throw out. A collection of various game systems littered the carpet before the television, movies and games stacked neatly and in some sort of secret order by Kasuka on the shelf beside it. Framed photographs of his family hung on different walls, each of them looking quite happy set against wallpaper that was _eggshell_ not _beige_ , as his mother had put it. 

The couch, like the rest of the furniture, was old. It was a detail most obviously noticed in the frayed and worn cushions, the material now a faded blue, the pattern no longer discernable. And Shizuo knew that if he were to flip over one of the cushions there’d be a nice burn mark where he’d fallen asleep with his cigarette in hand. 

Despite it being ancient and smelling of dust and old cigarettes, it was the most comfortable damn couch he’d ever laid on. And right now, he wanted to do just that. 

But he couldn’t because he was bleeding like a fountain, and if he didn’t clean himself up he’d stain enough of the carpet, furniture and whatever else he came into contact with to make it appear someone in the house had been brutally murdered.

Izaya’s jacket still laid over the back of the couch and Shizuo grabbed it up on his way to the stairs, ignoring the way his knuckles burned by simply moving and grasping the material. 

He really did a number on himself this time. If self-harm was an art form, he’d be the fuckin’ Pablo Picasso of it. 

Upstairs was where his and Kasuka’s bedrooms were, the doors only separated by a short hallway and a bathroom. His was the first on the left, as it was the smaller bedroom and he figured he didn’t need much space anyway. Kasuka liked to collect things; particularly books and films, so he needed that space in the second bedroom for shelves that would never fit in the first. 

Shizuo’s room was near vacant in comparison and looked like something out of a magazine that sold ready-to-go furniture. It was simple with just the necessities, but it was clean and that’s all he really cared about. 

He was just about to toss Izaya’s jacket over the back of his desk chair when a musical jingle began to chime from the pocket. Curiously he pulled the cell phone out, an expensive model he’d only ever seen attached to the flea’s ear from afar. 

The urge to open the phone and see who was calling was tempting, but Shizuo figured he’d be better off not knowing. He recognized a trigger when he saw one, and he already knew it was likely some girl. He wasn’t a complete idiot, and like everyone else he was aware that Izaya wasn’t particularly chaste. 

It was just another detail he forced himself to ignore because the mere thought of Izaya being touched by someone else was enough to send him into a destructive fit. And after his violent little performance a few minutes ago, the last thing he needed was to open Izaya’s phone and see some girl inviting him over to play. 

Setting the phone on his desk he turned his attention to the black jacket. 

For a jacket the flea had worn since middle school, the uniform was still in immaculate condition. The thread was still tight around the buttons, the stitching perfect and not stretched by growth. Aside from the dried blood and dust, it looked brand new.

If it weren’t so obvious that Izaya took great care of the thing, Shizuo would throw it into the garbage. 

Instead he found himself pressing the delicate fabric beneath his nose before shame could stop him.

He knew that was a lost battle anyway. Shame, morals and his pride never were able to put up much of a fight when it came to the colossal tenacity of his desire.

So it came as no surprise that as soon as the delicate scent of expensive cologne and _flea_ saturated his senses, a current of heat, heavy and thick, pooled in his groin. 

When all of this first started, he used to hate himself for reacting this way. Back when he was still in denial and pretended to be confused because that was better than admitting what he felt for another guy was more than just lust. A whole lot more. 

Now he treasured these fantasies because even if Izaya didn’t belong to him, when his hand was on his dick and he was pumping himself to orgasm, that giant detail was so easily forgotten. 

Closing his eyes and inhaling gently, it was so easy to imagine this not being Izaya’s jacket, but the graceful curve of his neck, his skin flushed against Shizuo’s lips as he pressed his mouth to a jutting collarbone, sinking his teeth just enough to make the flea gasp. And that skin, pale and smooth tasted like sugar against his tongue, and it melted just the same beneath his fingers as he spread them over slim hipbones, gripping firmly to press himself closer, feeling Izaya _moan_ against his mouth as he—

His torn and scabbed hand paused its descent to the buckle of his pants, Izaya’s cell alive and buzzing obnoxiously atop his desk. He waited for it to stop, only for it to continue once again.

That’s when he remembered Izaya had a family and two little sisters, and if this was an emergency, the least he could do was answer the damn phone instead of ignore it so he could jerk himself off. 

This time his conscience really did thwart his desire, and with an annoyed grimace he placed Izaya’s jacket on his bed before picking up the phone and flipping it open against his ear. 

“Hello?” 

For a second he thought the connection was bad or something until he heard the quiet sound of delicate breathing. “Orihara-kun?” 

It was a girl.

Shizuo was almost alarmed by how quickly he went soft, the blood rushing from his groin to his head, an annoyed pounding drowning most sound. “You his family?” 

Another pause, this one lengthier, and then, to his surprise, the line went dead. 

Shizuo withdrew the phone from his ear to stare at the screen, the contact name reading an ambiguous M. K. that meant nothing to him. Hopefully it meant nothing to Izaya, either. 

_Probably just a fuck buddy._

The thought made his head pound even harder, the oncoming headache reminding him that it wasn’t just his head that hurt, but his whole damn body. And as soon as he remembered how damaged he was, everything stung and ached a million times worse. 

Tossing the phone on the bed next to Izaya’s jacket, Shizuo peeled off his blue uniform and carefully unbuttoned his ruined white shirt, no longer in the mood for fantasizing and hoping that a hot shower would be enough to wash away more than just dried blood. 

* * *

It took approximately ten minutes after she’d hung up the phone to find Izaya, and that was only after asking passing students if they’d seen him anywhere after school had let out. 

When Mari entered the nurse’s office it was vacant, giving her free access to the side of Izaya’s bed.

She frowned at the swollen flesh beneath his right eye, the skin bright red and decorated with tiny strips of medical tape that seemed to be holding together a cut. It was only after she brushed careful fingers through his fringe that she noticed the second gash near his temple. Her gust twisted.

She didn’t like him very much, but he didn’t deserve to be beat like this, surely. 

And if this weren’t an absolute emergency, she’d leave him be to rest. However, their plan was in jeopardy as it seemed Shizuo had Izaya’s phone, which meant that it was only a matter of time before he looked through it and found her text messages. Worst case, he already had.

Firmly she shook Izaya’s shoulder. “Orihara-kun, wake up.” 

Eventually he seemed to rouse, perfectly thin brows lowering as consciousness brought with it the dull ache of half his face being cut, bruised, and swollen. When he opened his eyes, squinting his lashes to guard against the late afternoon sunlight, it was to find Mari looking at him with an expression he recognized as concern. 

“Should I find the nurse?” She asked when he pulled himself up. Not giving him time to reply, she continued. “No, never mind. Look, I think Heiwajima-kun has your phone. I tried to call you earlier to tell you that he messaged me, but he answered. I’m sure it was him.” 

Izaya supposed that was a problem, and normally he’d react. However, _normally_ he didn’t feel as if half his face had been mashed against a rock. 

His head swam as he tried to recall just how he ended up here. The last thing he remembered was sitting atop Shizuo’s lap—alright, _grinding_ —before lights out. Honestly, leave it to a virgin like Shizu-chan to react so violently to a little fun.

Or maybe he just reacted that way because it was _him_.

Either way, Izaya wasn’t about to just excuse the fact the brute had attempted to ruin half his face simply because it was a _natural reaction_.

Mari was still saying something, and the grating sound of her voice was only worsening the throb in his head. Holding up a hand to silence her, he glanced around for his jacket, realizing that along with his phone and his knife, Shizuo must’ve taken that too.

He ignored her offer to help him as he stood up. The rest of him was quite fine, although the area between his shoulder blades felt a little sore, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Rolling the kinks out, he approached the large cabinet against the wall as if it was his own and he had every right to its contents. 

“Orihara-kun, maybe you should wait until the nurse comes back.”

“Why would I waste my time? They’re just painkillers, ne?” He commented smoothly, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. Popping two of the large pills into his mouth, he swallowed them down with a glass of sink water. 

Mari watched him quietly, unable to keep her questions at bay for long. “Why does he have your phone, anyway?” 

Standing before the sink, Izaya’s eyes found hers in the mirror where he was assessing the damage. Reminding himself that he needed to be nicer to her if he wanted her to remain loyal, he held back the words he really wanted to say. “It was in my jacket, which I’m assuming he took with him. Stealing from me after doing this to my face. He really is awful, ne, Mari-chan?” 

Izaya couldn’t help the satisfaction he felt when he saw the way that made her eyes widen. After all, she _had_ been pestering him the past few days how it was impossible that Shizuo was the monster Izaya claimed he was. Maybe she’d believe him now that she had evidence. 

What he wasn’t expecting to see, however, was disappointment. Every word spoken was thick with disillusionment. “I didn’t realize he was like that.” 

“Don’t worry, ne.” Turning from the small sink, Izaya closed the distance between them. She met his gaze, hers every bit suspicious of his nearness, still not trusting him. 

Really, that was all his own fault. He really knew better than to treat his subordinates like he treated Shizu-chan. Humans didn’t enjoy taking orders from those they didn’t feel appreciated them properly. Unfortunately, Izaya knew exactly how Mari-chan deserved to be spoken to. The thing was, most humans deluded themselves into believing they were worthy of much more respect than they were due.

Mari-chan had yet to prove in any sort of way that she had the right to even his _attention_ , never mind respect. However, he was going to continue letting her believe otherwise less he wanted her to ruin this entire operation.

Softening his expression and slipping into the sort of character that could charm the panties off of a nun, Izaya lifted slender fingers to her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb across smooth skin that warmed in response. “Shizu-chan would never hurt you. Not intentionally.” 

As expected, those pretty hazel eyes glazed over, enchanted by a smile and a touch. Izaya fought back a grimace, distaste thinning his lips. He didn’t care how pretty she was, any human that was _this_ easy to manipulate would never hold his interest longer than he had use for them. 

Perhaps that’s what made Shizu-chan simultaneously so infuriating and exciting. Nothing could convince him to do anything he didn’t want to. Not money, not sex, not a million vanilla milkshakes. 

And if he were being honest, he’d dare say that was a compliment. 

* * *

“Nii-san, your phone.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’,” Shizuo replied, heading downstairs in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, drying his soaked hair with a thin towel with one hand and twirling Izaya’s flick blade with the other. Closed, of course. Unlike the flea, he hardly had near the same dexterity with his fingers to even slice bread without causing an accident. 

Kasuka was waiting for him near the entryway to the kitchen, holding out the silver cell phone that was vibrating with some default ringtone he’d never bothered or cared to change. “It keeps making noise.” 

Flipping it open, Shizuo read the text message he’d received a few hours ago from Mari but hadn’t bothered to check. 

[Great! I’m looking forward to it! Where would you like to meet?]

Right. Their date. The one Izaya had set up in the previous text. Opening the message he’d sent her, the blond was relieved to find it wasn’t some weird as hell place the flea had decided on. Dinner and a movie. That was cheap and easy enough.

When he closed out of his inbox, it was to find the picture Izaya had set as his wallpaper. There he was with his head to the pavement and the flea’s knife on his neck, looking stupid as hell, and Izaya smiling elatedly into the camera like a well-fed cat. 

It was so _them_ , Shizuo couldn’t even say he hated it.

But a strange look must’ve been on his face, because Kasuka was staring.

“It’s nothin’,” Shizuo grunted, tossing the towel over his shoulder and heading into the kitchen for a bottle of water. “What do you want to eat?” 

He sighed when he opened the fridge, the interior looking depressingly sparse of ingredients that weren’t breakfast foods or soup. Guess he’d need to go shopping soon. “Curry rice alright?” 

“Un.” 

“Good.” 

Setting Izaya’s knife out of the way on the counter, Shizuo got to work, pulling out various pots and pans. 

And despite living with Kasuka his entire life, Shizuo still was unable to detect when his brother just appeared out of nowhere, he was so damn quiet.

“What happened?” 

Shizuo knew precisely what his brother was looking at, and he tightened his fingers around the silver panhandle, really regretting the fact his wounds were so damn obvious. He didn’t like Kasuka seeing evidence of his lack of control. He didn’t want him to know that he was weak in the ways that mattered. “Just an accident.” 

Not another word left his mouth as he gathered the ingredients, pouring a dab of oil into the warming pan. He was almost thankful when the doorbell chimed.

“Oi, can you get that? It’s Shinra. Just let him in.” 

But it wasn’t Shinra. Kasuka knew Shinra, had spoken to Shinra. This was someone else. Someone he recognized only from afar. 

“Kasuka-kun, ne?” Izaya smiled cheerily, stepping inside uninvited. “I’m here to see your onii-chan. Is he home?”

Dark brown eyes followed the pale intruder. “What business do you have with nii-san?”

Pursuing the noise coming from the kitchen off to his right, Izaya all but ignored the expressionless brother who’d greeted him. How he and Shizuo were related was beyond him. Later, when he had the time, he’d pay more attention to the younger boy. Right now, he had more pressing matters with the Heiwajima family’s dearest firstborn. 

He found him in the kitchen, standing at the stove, entirely unaware that his sworn enemy had all but pranced through his front door. Oh, how deliciously easy it would be to take his knife, which he spotted on the counter, and bury it into that naked, bronzed back. 

But no, that would be _too_ easy. Besides, the only enjoyable part about murder was seeing someone suffer. Death without torture was like sex without foreplay. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that one day Shizu-chan would meet his ultimate end at his hand, but first Izaya was going to play with him a little longer. 

Soundlessly retrieving his knife from the counter and flipping it open, the raven-haired teen closed the distance between himself and the blond innocently frying rice. 

Shizuo felt the cold press of metal bite into the front of his chest a moment before Izaya’s mouth was at his shoulder, breath hot against his skin. 

Panic threaded itself through every wiry muscle as Izaya pressed himself into his back, his free hand sliding against his bare hipbone, making Shizuo wish more than ever he’d bothered putting on a shirt. 

_Like that’d make a damn difference._

“The hell you doing here, Izaya?” He finally managed to ask, pretending to ignore the knife digging into his chest and continuing to stir the rice before it burned. _Stay calm_ , he commanded. If he lost his temper now, Kasuka would see, and he didn’t want that to happen.

“We have unfinished business, Shizu-chan.” As he spoke his lips brushed softly against wonderfully warm skin, and he inhaled the clean scent of soap, noticing the damp ends of gold at the nape of Shizuo’s neck. 

“Don’t you think you’ve used that thing enough for one day?” He asked pointedly in reference to the blade.

“Enough will be when I’ve bled you dry. And in any case, you owe me. For all the times we’ve fought, I’ve never hurt your pretty face, Shizu-chan.” Gently, he nipped Shizuo’s shoulder between perfect white teeth, continuing to run his free hand around to the protozoan’s deep navel, his thumb brushing it curiously, enjoying the way his hardened abdomen dipped away from the caress. “Now I have to walk around looking like a pathetic victim, as if I _lost_.” 

God fucking damn him if he wasn’t trembling beneath the hand Izaya was gliding across his stomach, those slender fingers dancing dangerously close to the hem of his pants. “You did lose.”

He nearly hissed as the blade buried itself into his skin, no longer a prick but a definite puncture that drew blood. He could feel it trickle down from his chest to his waist, and he growled, pissed that he’d ruined so many clothes in one day. 

“Nii-san?”

 _Fuck._

“Oi, Kasuka, don’t you have homework to do or somethin’?” As if that wasn’t the most desperate attempt yet to distract his brother from something glaringly wrong. 

“I’ve finished it. Who is this, nii-san?” 

Teeth grinding a chorus of pain, Shizuo bit out the words he knew Izaya would ridicule the moment he dared attempt to pass off such a lie. “Izaya Orihara. A friend, alright? Just go.” 

As anticipated, the flea released an anything-but-quiet laugh. “ _Really_ , Shizu-chan?” 

Unexpectedly, Izaya withdrew his knife and released his hold, likely believing Shizuo would never exercise violence within his own home and being damn right, as usual. 

“Me and your _nii-san_ are not friends, Kasuka-kun,” Izaya refuted with an amused grin, pocketing his weapon and nearing the young teen that’d entered the kitchen and disrupted his fun. “It’d be more accurate to say we are the _opposite_ of friends. In fact, I hate your nii-san more than anyone in the entire world.” 

It was remarkable just how unresponsive the young boy’s face was, and Izaya’s Cheshire-grin faltered, unused to having someone look at him as if they saw right through him. 

Not that he was hiding anything, but still, the effect was all the same discomfiting. 

“Is this a joke, nii-san?” Kasuka eventually asked, turning his attention to his brother who’d taken the pan off the stove to clean up the bloody mess Izaya had made of his chest. 

If only. “Yeah, he’s just kidding, alright. We just need to talk. Give us a few minutes.” 

They both waited until Kasuka had retreated into the living room before returning their attention to each other.

Now, face-to-face, Shizuo could see the damage he’d done to Izaya’s eye, temple, cheek, hell, it might as well be his whole damn head. 

Immediately his stomach clenched in disgust with himself, and he drew his eyes to the wall behind the flea’s head, an action that did not go unnoticed.

“He’s cute, ne.” 

Shizuo snorted softly, stupidly feeling secure enough to turn his back and continue making dinner. “Guess he got the good genes, huh?” 

It probably wasn’t the best move to give Izaya such an easy in at insulting him, but he was surprised when the flea didn’t take it. Instead he sidled up to the counter beside the stove, casually pulling himself into a sitting position on the edge, black-clad legs crossing at the ankles. 

“Not all of them. Shizu-chan is much prettier, although undoubtedly more stupid.” 

If the flea asked, Shizuo planned on blaming the stove heat for the flash of color on his face at the double-edged compliment. “Get your damn eyes checked, flea. And your hearing. Maybe then you’ll know how damn crazy you sound.” 

But he wasn’t crazy. Not in the least. 

Perhaps Shizuo was insecure or honestly didn’t notice, either way Izaya didn’t care. But there was no denying the blond was attractive. Izaya wondered idly, as he quietly watched the other teen stir more rice, if this was the first time he’d seen Shizuo without a shirt on. It definitely felt like it, as he couldn’t keep himself from staring at the naked expanse of creamy skin, stretched over hard, lean muscle, decorated with scars. 

_His_ markings. 

The side of Izaya that took pleasure in his possessiveness smiled gleefully at the sight of the slightly faded scar in the center of Shizuo’s chest, a testament to the first time they’d laid eyes on each other. 

Shizuo growled, the sound jolting Izaya to awareness. “The hell you staring at?”

“You,” Izaya answered honestly, pressing his weight onto his right hand in order to lean further into Shizuo’s line of vision, because he wasn’t looking at him and it was beginning to get on his nerves. “Shizu-chan seems very domesticated like this.”

“It’s my damn home. How the fuck else should I look?”

The slender teen shrugged, glancing around the kitchen as if it’d struck him for the first time since he’d entered that he was in Shizuo’s home. “So this is what a monster’s lair looks like, ne. It’s cleaner than I expected.” 

“It’s not a lair, it’s a house. And fuck you.” 

Izaya’s face hurt with how wide his smile grew, making the pain in his cheek throb as a reminder that the painkillers were wearing off. “Sometimes I really do wonder if I’ll miss you once you’re dead. Shizu-chan is so entertaining.”

“If that’s the case, just kill me once you’re bored.”

“Ah, but then you’d be alive forever.” 

Shizuo’s hand stilled, his heart catapulting into his throat. Discreetly he moved his eyes to Izaya, curious as to what expression he was wearing while saying shit like that. Shit that could so easily be misconstrued. Shit that was dangerous, because it fed the part of him that was hungry for even a scrap of hope that the flea didn’t hate him as much as he said he did. 

However, one glance and all Shizuo saw was bruising skin and a deep cut, and _christ_ he was a fucking idiot. Of course Izaya hated him. Who the hell wouldn’t after being hit like that? 

“What business?”

“Hm?”

“You said we have unfinished business. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

The smile disappeared from Izaya’s face, whatever strange enjoyment he’d gathered dissipating upon the reminder of his purpose. “Like I said, you owe me, ne.” 

Reaching out to switch off the stove and moving the pan to the back burner, Shizuo laughed despite his aggravation. “Do you have your face insured? Why the hell do I owe you anything? If you wanna talk about who owes who, then I got a list for you, and you can start with replacing my damn uniform.” 

Izaya’s eyes narrowed, not that Shizuo was looking to notice. “This is not a negotiation, Shizu-chan. I’m not asking.”

Of course he wasn’t. Izaya Orihara didn’t ask for anything. Not when the entire world was handed to him on a damn platter for him to pick at as he pleased. 

“You want an apology, flea? Cause other than that, there’s not much else I have to give.” At this point, he was just pretending to be this stupid. He knew precisely what Izaya wanted. The thing was, he was so worn out and damaged at this point. He’d really hoped he’d have a little more time to heal his current wounds before Izaya gave him another. 

But luck never had been in the cards for him. Neither had mercy.

Rubbing a tired hand across his eyes, Shizuo ceded softly, “Can you wait til after dinner? I don’t need Kasuka seeing that shit.” 

“Of course, ne. I can be fair. In the meantime, maybe Shizu-chan can return everything he stole from me.”

“Right.”

Shizuo disappeared briefly and when he returned it was with Izaya’s phone, the owner of it more disappointed than he wanted to admit at the clean white shirt the blond was now wearing. 

“Your jacket is in the wash,” Shizuo stated simply, still refusing to meet Izaya’s gaze even as he handed the flea his phone. 

“I dry clean my uniform, Shizu-chan.” 

_Of course he did._ “Yeah, well, just fuckin’ deal with it.” He knew he should’ve just thrown the damn thing away. “Ungrateful asshole.” Going over to the fridge for a bottle of water, Shizuo mumbled as he uncapped it, “Some girl called, by the way. I thought it might be important, so I answered.”

The only sign that Izaya was a little _too_ interested in this topic was displayed by the pausing of his thumb on his keypad. “Am I supposed to believe Shizu-chan didn’t look through my phone? You must know by now that I’m not even near that naïve.”

“I didn’t. Just so you know, not everyone is a nosy asshole.” 

“Not everyone,” Izaya agreed, pocketing his phone when he realized that all of his messages had remained unread, proof that Shizuo wasn’t completely lying. “But most.” 

“Guess you would know.” 

“Guess I would.” 

The plates made way too much noise as he pulled them out, and it was a welcome distraction and hopefully enough of one to mask the tenseness in his voice as he said, “Figured it was your girlfriend.”

The moment the words left his mouth he wished he could shove them back in, because the Shizuo Izaya was used to didn’t concern himself with the flea’s personal life. The Shizuo that hated Izaya gave zero shits about anything concerning the dark haired teen outside their stupid game. 

“Just because a girl happens to have my number does not mean I’m fucking her, Shizu-chan.”

If Izaya was in the mood for answering his weird-ass questions, then damn him if he wasn’t gonna take advantage of it. Blame it on the thrill of relief that he’d been wrong earlier. Maybe he was wrong about a lot of shit. “And the girls that follow you around everywhere?”

Izaya shrugged, wholly disinterested with the topic, but quite curious as to why Shizuo was so concerned. “Believe it or not, I have taste. Unlike Shizu-chan, who seems to just take what he can get.”

“Not all of us can have what we want, Izaya.” 

“And I’d feel sorry for you if I cared.” But now he was curious, because people didn’t say that sort of thing unless they meant something by it. 

Sliding from the counter Izaya approached the blond, his nearness forcing Shizuo to finally turn and face him, although the brute still refused to meet his eyes. “What _do_ you want, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo’s immediate response was to move his gaze to the floor, shielding his eyes before Izaya saw what would undoubtedly be written in their expression. 

_You_. A million times over, _you_. 

Annoyance like none other erased the smirk from Izaya’s face, and instead of going for his knife, his hand found Shizuo’s chin, forcing the monster’s attention where he wanted it. 

However, the expression reflected in that caramel gaze was far from what he expected, and his frustration warped itself into biting anger because he recognized that look. It was the same one he gave to humans who were beyond pathetic and way past saving. _Pity_. “Look away from me again, and I’ll carve out your eyes, ne. Just because you’ve managed to hit me once, Shizuo, does not mean I am no longer a threat.” 

In a strange way, Shizuo could probably blame Shinra for this entire fiasco. 

After all, he was the one that first introduced them. He was the one that made the comment that Izaya wasn’t psychotic; he just didn’t know how to react to people caring for him because no one really did. 

And it was that comment, which had been made so casually, that had begun Shizuo’s obsession with the flea. Made him wonder what his life was like outside their games, outside school. Made him look closer until he was too close, and at that point entirely lost with no way out. 

People as messed up as Izaya didn’t get that way by themselves. 

And it took a while until Shizuo noticed that the look Izaya wore when he thought no one was looking was one he’d worn himself his entire life. 

Sometimes, and Shizuo knew this better than anyone, loneliness was self-imposed. And no matter how many people surround you, if you don’t think you deserve love, you won’t notice when someone cares. It won’t make any damn sense.

For him, love was pity, and others caring was just a sign they thought he was weak. It’d taken time, and he was still working on it even now, for Shizuo to accept that he was wrong. 

Unfortunately, Izaya wasn’t there yet. 

But whatever the fuck Izaya thought he saw right now wasn’t pity. Maybe when this thing first started and he realized Izaya was more than just a pretty-faced asshole with a sharp tongue and a lot of money. Yeah, he pitied him then. 

Now, there was no point. Whatever Izaya needed, whatever it was he wanted, Shizuo would give to him without hesitation. 

If the flea saw anything, it was frustration. Frustration because the stupid louse was too damned blind and defensive to realize he wasn’t alone at all. Too wound up in this ridiculous game to give Shizuo the damn opportunity to prove him wrong. 

So, what did he want? Just a damn chance. 

That wasn’t going to happen if he kept screwing up, though. His gaze moved to the swollen flesh beneath Izaya’s eye, the color darkening as the skin began to bruise a deep purple that would otherwise look beautiful against the flea’s complexion had it not been a fucking wound. 

The crimson gaze that was watching his every move narrowed when he remained quiet, no doubt trying to figure out what was keeping the monster inside of him so docile. 

“Thankfully it won’t scar. If it did, I really would kill you.” 

The hand that held his chin slipped to his cheek, the soft pad of Izaya’s thumb rubbing gentle circles beneath his eye. 

“After mutilating Shizu-chan’s pretty face first.” 

It took everything to turn his face away from that touch when all he wanted was to press it closer. But the Shizuo that hated Izaya wouldn’t tolerate such a thing. Not if he could help it. 

To make sure the flea didn’t try again, Shizuo just kept a firm grasp around his wrist, squeezing tightly, but not enough to bruise. 

It was such a tiny movement, nothing but self-preservation. 

Izaya would never see it that way. Everything Shizuo ever did was just another way of attacking him. He could just breathe too roughly and the damn flea would treat him as he would a raging bull. 

Even now the arm within his grasp was tense, ready for the first chance to lash out and defend. 

“I am not afraid of you, Shizu-chan. Don’t treat me as if I have reason to be.” 

“But you do, dumbass,” Shizuo all but growled, releasing his hold on Izaya’s wrist before he accidentally snapped it. “Look at your damn face. The fuck is that if it’s not a reason?”

Unchecked fury flittered briefly across Izaya’s face for a moment, the next second gone, a mask of indifference solidly in place.

Shizuo didn’t even give him the chance to answer. “It wouldn’t happen if you’d just leave me the hell alone, Izaya.” 

“You expect me to simply ignore you?”

“I didn’t say that. Just stop fuckin’ trying to stab the shit out of me for one second.”

The look he gave him was as if the thought had never even crossed his mind, just before a dry smile stretched his face, a sign that he was thoroughly entertained. “And what? Become _friends?_ ” 

Try. That’s the only thing he could do. He had no one to blame but himself if he didn’t even attempt to change things between them. Maybe Celty and Shinra were right. Maybe he just needed to be honest and see where that got him before he decided to just give up on the hope that him and Izaya could be something more than at each other’s throats. 

“It’s not impossible, flea.” 

“Except it is, because I hate you.” Something in those garnet eyes hardened, all amusement vanishing, closed off behind a cold exterior of malice. His tone was chastising, hard. “Or have you not been paying attention?” 

Yeah, he’d been paying attention. Apparently somewhere along the line he supposed his delusions got the better of him. Blame it on being an idiot. Blame it on his friends and their constant support and encouragement. 

This disappointment, this ache was not Izaya’s fault. It was his own for even daring to believe that there was such a thing as a chance that things could ever be different between them. His feelings didn’t mean shit. 

Fuck being honest. Fuck hope. Fuck trying to be happy.

The only thing Izaya would ever want from him would be his life, and one goddamn day, when all of this was just too much, and he was too tired of the constant disappointment, maybe he’d just hand it over. 

“You should go, Izaya,” he said firmly, unsure just what he’d do if he had to take another second of this. 

“Not until I get what I came for, Shizu-chan.” 

_Fuck it_. Shoving past the flea, he threw over his shoulder a gruff, “Come on then,” before walking out of the kitchen. 

Kasuka glanced up from the couch as the two of them emerged, Izaya waving at him good naturedly as if they were the best of friends and the only reason he was following his brother out into the backyard was to play a friendly game of catch. 

“Go eat, Kasuka. I’ll be in soon,” Shizuo ordered, refusing to meet his brother’s inquisitive gaze.

The air was cooler now that it was evening, the sun’s rays barely reaching the top of the fence surrounding the yard. 

What was odd was just how quiet it was, not a bird to be heard, not a car passing by. Uncomfortable with the stillness, Shizuo moved to pull a cigarette from his pocket, as if Izaya wasn’t standing behind him with the intent of dishing out his revenge in what was no doubt going to be insanely painful. 

“I’d ask why you’re being so compliant about this if it wasn’t a waste of time,” Izaya began, the sound of his voice pleasant despite his words.

“I don’t think the answer would satisfy you very much anyway,” the blond countered quietly, watching the end of his cigarette burn away, wondering how long it would take for heat to singe his flesh, uncaring if it did.

All of a sudden there was a lot he didn’t care about. Izaya reinforcing the fact that he hated him sort of sucked the feeling out of him, and as always, there was no telling how long it was gonna take to recover. 

“Y’know, flea, it was an accident. I didn’t hit you cause I wanted to.” 

And just as he knew would happen, Izaya laughed, the same humorless laugh he forced whenever Shizuo said something he didn’t know how to respond to. Because it was kind, and that meant it didn’t make sense.

“There is nothing you can say that will make this hurt any less, Shizu-chan. So please, save it, ne? Kasuka-kun can’t hear us, so there’s really no point.”

“Yeah,” he murmured with a slight nod, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Guess you’re right.” 

He really was a creature of habit, and soon he found himself standing quietly in the same place where not hours before he’d taken his anger out on the black mass of smoke Celty had provided. Now standing before him was Izaya, and while not nearly as indestructible, he was a hundred times more intimidating, but for so many different reasons. 

“Try any shady shit, and you’re dead, flea,” Shizuo warned, the threat holding no weight as he didn’t mean a word of it. All for the sake of appearances. 

Izaya didn’t even look as if he were listening, his right fist already curled and ready. “I would never, Shizu-chan.” 

Except he would and he did, because just after his fist smashed itself into the side of Shizuo’s face, his silver ring catching soft flesh and making the cut that much deeper, the flea managed to embed his knife somewhere in the region below Shizuo’s ribcage. Or maybe it was just a deep cut. It was difficult to tell. 

All Shizuo knew was that he was bleeding, _again_ , and it hurt. 

“Now we’re even, ne?” Izaya murmured silkily, somewhere in the vicinity of Shizuo’s ear and neck. 

“You call this even?” He heaved a pained breath as the blade slid away from his skin, the flesh on his side igniting, and the right side of his face pulsing angrily. “I don’t remember slicing the shit out of you.” 

Stepping away, Izaya teasingly touched his tongue to the edge of his blade before closing it with a quick flick of his wrist. “True, but unfortunately it would take me all night to knock a monster like you unconscious. This is much more efficient.” 

“Asshole.”

 _Shit_. Maybe it really was more than just a cut, because his vision began to swim, his head feeling as if someone had pumped it full of helium. He shook it, only encouraging the swell beneath his eye to pound harder. 

He supposed he was starting to black out too, because one moment he was standing and the next he was leaning against his fence, not sure if he fell or walked himself there. All he knew was that the left side of his body was wet and hot and everything hurt like hell. 

And maybe he imagined it, but he was sure he felt something soft brush his cheek before Izaya’s voice was once more in his ear. “You’re not immortal, Shizuo. Don’t pretend to be. Even for you, that sort of arrogance is annoying.” 

A reply caught in his throat, trapped beneath a pained breath.

Somewhere off in the distance he heard Kasuka calling for him, but he was too tired to be concerned. 

“Make sure cute little Kasuka-kun doesn’t try calling the police, ne. Not unless you want him involved.” 

Somehow he managed to ground out a shaky, “No.” 

“See? Shizu-chan can be a good boy when he wants to.” 

The asshole actually dared to pat him on the head like a damn dog. And just like a dog, Shizuo growled, the sound a gravelly gurgle. 

He thought he’d lifted his arms to shove Izaya away, but apparently he’d imagined that too, because when he managed to open his eyes both his hands were braced on dry grass. 

No doubt he looked pathetic, but he was just too damn drowsy to care. So much blood loss in one day even affected someone like him, and like Izaya said, he wasn’t immortal. 

“Shinra will be over soon to make sure you don’t die.” Pocketing his phone, Izaya lowered himself until he was eyelevel with the half-unconscious monster, his ringed hand once more grasping hold of Shizuo’s chin to hold it up. Caramel eyes forced themselves open, eventually finding warm cherry. 

And Shizuo knew for a fact he was hallucinating, because there was no way Izaya was gently brushing his thumb across his lower lip while looking at him like _that_ , as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. As if he were looking at someone he didn’t hate.

Yeah, he was definitely hallucinating. There was no way that gentle voice was Izaya’s. “We could never be friends, Shizuo. You and I could never be that boring.” 

And Shizuo was ready to deny it, even if it felt impossible with the way his breaths were coming fast and harsh, but _damn it_ , dream-Izaya had it all wrong, and as usual he was just saying shit that didn’t make any sense.

But the only sound Shizuo made was an unattractive grunt as a fist met the side of his face, the world swiftly falling into black shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a great holiday and ate lots of delicious food. I know I did (and it shows…) 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your reviews/favorites/follows! Encouragement and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Happy Holidays!  
> ~Merry


	4. Mixed Signals

“If you weren’t you I’d call an ambulance, but,” Shinra snipped the suture thread, tossing the used needle into a plastic bag atop the bloodied hand towels, “I think you’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything strenuous for the next few days until it’s closed up.” 

Shizuo grimaced as he pulled his shirt back on, skin tugging painfully around his freshly stitched wound, side itching with heat and a million tiny pinpricks of pain. Laid out on his couch, light-years away from comfortable, he sighed a quiet, “Thanks.” His eyes settled on the popcorn ceiling, desperate for something to look at other than Shinra’s concerned stare. 

Shinra decided to busy himself with his medical supplies because every time his eyes met Shizuo’s something in his gut felt like it was being stepped on, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “You’ve had quite an eventful day.”

The left side of Shizuo’s face was gradually swelling, the shade of a nasty bruise beginning to manifest beneath the deep cut left by Izaya’s ring. He didn’t pay it much attention. “Yeah.”

Taking out a full roll of gauze, antiseptic, and some tiny squares of cotton, Shinra dampened a square before holding out his hand expectantly. 

Without issue, Shizuo presented his right hand first, busted knuckles unashamedly red and glowing. The first contact of the antiseptic normally made him hiss, but he welcomed the burn of warmth that followed. Reticent leonine focused a quiet gaze on the brunette beside him, watching as his closest friend worked at patching up the physical proof of his shame. Shinra’s hands were soft, warm, and steady as they made clean work of bandaging Shizuo’s knuckles, careful to avoid touching any open abrasions. 

Shinra rarely spoke while he was working, preferring to absorb himself in his task with an expert dedication that belied his age and high-spirited countenance. This particular quiet always put Shizuo on edge because he knew what was coming. Questions, a hundred of them, each brutal, shamelessly prying, and always, always, about Izaya. 

“She told me what happened,” Shinra divulged when he was finished and had begun to pack away his supplies. Shizuo made no sound in reply, so the other teen continued. “Don’t do this again. Hurting yourself over him isn’t an option that me, Celty, _or_ your brother are going to stand by.”

Shinra glanced up only to find Shizuo staring at his lap, eyes lowered in barefaced guilt. 

Taking up the box of cigarettes from the coffee table and feeling like a terrible doctor, Shinra offered them to the despondent blond and remained quiet as Shizuo lit a cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. 

“Sorry,” he eventually sighed. “Just had a real shitty day.” 

Feeling better now that Shizuo was finally speaking in semi-full sentences again, Shinra relaxed his position on the carpet, leaning an elbow on the same cushion Shizuo was resting upon. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A snort, derisive. “No.” Another drag, thick vapor filling hungry lungs, a smoky exhale.

“You should, you know? I can help you get through this.”

“’Cause you have so much experience with rejection, right?”

“I don’t,” Shinra replied agreeably before making his point, “But neither do you.” 

Shizuo paused, finally calm enough to meet his friend’s gaze. “That a joke? You think I’m in any kind of mood for this, Shinra?” No experience with rejection, his ass. Sure, it wasn’t a direct _no I will never return your feelings_ , but being punched in the face wasn’t exactly beating around the bush. 

The interim doctor rolled his eyes. “You never want to talk about Izaya with me.” The words came out sounding almost like a whine, the shorter teen more-than-slightly aggravated that his best friend was still choosing to leave him in the dark. “You’re missing out. I know more about him than anyone. I can tell you things.” 

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Shizuo lied, mashing his cigarette into a glass ashtray. “So just shut the hell up.” 

The brunette smiled. “Oh, really? So I suppose it wouldn’t interest you to know that he’s a very, _very_ light sleeper, or that he hates sweets and that his favorite food is—”

“I said I didn’t wanna fuckin’ hear it.” 

Concern shadowed Shinra’s face, his usual smile unable to make an appearance.

_There you go, just upsetting people again_. Dropping his gaze and his anger with it, Shizuo’s head fell forward, a curtain of blond disguising his expression. “Sorry, it’s just—”

_I hate you, Shizu-chan._

“—hard.” 

The quiet stretched on, neither moving, neither looking up. 

It was like someone had passed away. Something. Either way he couldn’t shake the ache of absence. Everything felt empty, odd, off-center. Everything except his body, which was tired, leaden, giving him every reason to believe that if he stood in one place long enough he might just sink into the ground. He was himself, just less. His brain wasn’t sitting correctly in his skull. Something had lodged it out of place, and it was all he could do to think straight. 

The world just felt detached, like he was watching his own life through a television screen, experiencing it secondhand. 

Guess this was what accepting the truth felt like.

Vacant.

“I think I’m just gonna stop,” he breathed, the words feeling transparent, the afterimage of a smoky exhale, blank of expression. 

“Stop what?”

“Wanting him, I guess.” A shrug was attempted. 

“Can you do that?” 

“Yeah, I just—” He drew out another cigarette. His lighter. Listened to the gentle flick and watched the tiny flame dance into existence, warming the end of a slender stick, “Need a better distraction. Something to do.” 

Brown eyes leveled the blond, studying him quietly. “I don’t think that’s—”

“Healthy?” Shizuo felt like he might be smiling. Wasn’t sure. “I just bled myself unconscious, Shinra, and it’s not the first time. That can’t be healthy either.” 

“Yes, but physical injuries can be healed rather easily. Suppressing your emotions is extremely damaging to your mental state, Shizuo.”

This time he laughed, just a small puff of humorless air. “I don’t think it can get any worse.”

Shinra watched, bothered by the lack of animation in his best friend’s eyes as he stared emptily at his burning cigarette. He didn’t know what to say. What he _could_ say. This pain transcended any sort of personal experience he was familiar with. No one quite knew rejection like Shizuo, and who was he to advise him on how to deal with it? He, who had the woman he wanted within his reach, who had the privilege of knowing that the one he loved enjoyed his presence and desired his happiness? Their situations were incomparable, their understanding of the world entirely dissimilar. 

“I told him it could be different for us, and he said it couldn’t.” Shizuo brought the cigarette to his lips, felt the thin paper slide against his mouth. Inhaled, exhaled, repeated. “So exactly what are my options?” 

Shinra stayed quiet, absorbing the situation and the extent to which Shizuo was suffering, which exceeded any of his previous assumptions. He was surprised when the blond moved to stand, pulling himself off the couch as if he hadn’t been recently stitched like a badly beaten ragdoll. 

“I’ll be fine, alright? You guys don’t need to worry about me.” 

Utterly doubtful, Shinra stood, eyes meeting unresponsive hazel. “Will you?”

_No_. “Yeah. Just,” A stream of smoke curled and dissipated into the air, “Give me some time. It’ll get easier.” 

It wouldn’t. Shinra knew, and from the look in Shizuo’s eyes, so did he. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over his shoulder and offering his worst attempt yet at a smile. As if he could convince anyone. “I’ll figure it out.”

A dead cigarette was flicked into the dirt of a potted plant, the end blackened, put out before it ever had a chance to burn. Shinra stared at it, considering the idea that fate just might have a horrible sense of humor.

* * *

Saturday night and Shizuo currently found himself sitting across from Mari in some unimpressive burger joint in Ikebukuro. Having little money regrettably translated into a cheap date, and he was more than half hoping that Mari was as understanding as she was attractive, because otherwise this date was going to be real shitty. 

Well, _more_ shitty. 

Biting into his burger, he held back a grimace as the left side of his face ached in protest. The cut Izaya’s ring had left had healed quick enough, but unfortunately the bruise seemed to have unfinished business with his cheek. No doubt under the cheap fluorescence of the restaurant lighting the yellowing bruise looked even more sickly than usual, clashing all sorts of bad with his gold hair and warm skin. People already mistook him for a miscreant, and his busted face definitely wasn’t helping matters. 

It was also a hard task to try and deny that he and Mari didn’t make an odd pair. There he was looking all sorts of grisly sitting across from the prettiest girl for miles, the two of them receiving the occasional curious looks from surrounding diners who were probably wondering which of her family members he’d threatened in order to get this date. 

Shizuo chanced a glance at her, his attention immediately landing on the soft swell of cleavage peeking from the top of her dress. 

“Heiwajima-kun?”

_Shit._

Face burning, his eyes rose to meet hers, fearing she’d noticed where he’d been looking. 

She smiled gently. “You’re being really quiet. Are you okay?” 

That seemed to be the question of the week, and the answer was a definitive no. Hell, when was his answer anything else? Thankfully she hadn’t asked him about his bandages or why the left side of his face looked like a kindergartener’s watercolor art project. She probably already knew anyway. Everyone knew.

“Sorry,” he apologized, taking a sip of his milkshake for something to do, hoping to unload some of this disquiet. “Not sure how to do this.” 

Nibbling on a golden fry, she grinned. “Am I that intimidating?” 

Something about her casualty relaxed him enough to respond with a half-grin of his own. “Nah, just don’t talk to many girls.”

“Well, don’t think of me as a _girl_ , then. I’m just another person, same as anyone else.”

Easy enough in theory, but she had no idea how much of a struggle this was for him. Personal issues aside, Shizuo wasn’t exactly a social butterfly and his interests weren’t all that extensive. It was almost ironic that the branded ‘beast of Ikebukuro’ just so happened to be the most boring guy in all of Japan. Despite the rumors, he didn’t go around hanging with yakuza, gleefully chomping on the bones of his enemies as he rolled severed heads into the Tokyo Bay. Those sorts of activities were more along the lines of something Izaya would be into—the fuckin’ lunatic. 

“Alright.” 

Hiding her smile behind a raised hand, Mari laughed, the sound musical and delicate. “I can’t tell if you’re really shy or just really nervous.” 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she chastised lightly. “It’s cute.” 

The compliments were another thing making him uneasy, and Mari seemed to be throwing all she had at him and he knew fuck all what to do about it but sit there awkwardly and stare at the table like some dysfunctional weirdo. 

Dating was way too damn hard. He wasn’t cut out for little movie nights, candlelit dinners and walking through parks. And if that’s what she expected of him, she was going to be sorely disappointed. 

Atop the table, Mari’s cell buzzed to life, bursts of LED lighting blinking behind a soft pink casing. 

A distraction and a welcomed one. 

Flipping it open she read the message from her _lovely_ employer informing her that she was being watched. _Spied upon_. An indignant scowl ruined her pretty smile as she typed out a terse reply. 

Mari drew her attention back to her date, forcing a tense smile. “Sorry. My mom is just very protective and sometimes it gets a little annoying.” Hiding her unease behind another helping of greasy fries, she glanced down when she received Izaya’s reply. 

Feeling awkward that she seemed more focused on her phone than on him (not that he was surprised), Shizuo found himself doing the same, if only to busy his hands and take his mind off his own inadequacy. Having set his phone on silent because he didn’t need it interrupting them, he hadn’t noticed the unread message in his inbox.

The number was unknown. **[** Good luck on your date, Shizu-chan~ Try not to embarrass yourself too much. **]**

There was only one person that called him by that stupid name, and it was the last person he needed to think about right now. 

All he had to do was delete the message, close his phone, and forget. Breathe. Think about something else. The girl sitting before him, all dolled up and perfect. His food. Any one of his injuries. But his body, as usual, had a mind of its own, and with a numb sense of awareness he watched his thumb type a response and press ‘send’. **[** How did you get my number? **]**

Suddenly he was reminded that he had a heartbeat and it thudded excitedly against his ribs, making the stitches on his side pulse angrily beneath a thin layer of bandaging. He watched his phone. Waited.

It vibrated in his palm and he opened the message. **[** Shinra, of course. I’ve had it for a while, ne. But speaking to you isn’t exactly stimulating conversation. **]**

A growl caught in his throat, his pride deciding he should take offense. **[** Bullshit. **]**

Izaya’s reply was instant. **[** I rest my case. **]**

A tiny heart punctuated the end of the message and Shizuo stared at it, knowing full well that it didn’t mean anything but remained unable to look away. 

Pocketing his phone, suddenly feeling weighed down and tired, he raised his eyes to the girl sitting across from him, watched the sparkly charm dangling from her phone sway as she finished typing a message. 

“Sorry, I need to make a phone call,” Mari said when she noticed Shizuo waiting. 

Understanding she wanted a little privacy, he stood, taking the tray carrying their trash with him. “I’ll wait outside.” 

She offered him an appreciative smile as he left. 

The street was teeming with people and he found refuge beneath the restaurant awning, lit a cigarette and leaned back against unpolished glass to watch passerby. 

It was crowded, like always. People glanced at him and he hated it, as usual. Nothing was different. The air was stale with exhaust, stirred with noise. The tender skin beneath his eye continued to pulse. The pain made him think of Izaya. 

He tried to focus on the couples walking by. Tried to study how to be with another person. How to be familiar and gentle, sweet and intimate in all the ways he didn’t know how. 

His attention was caught by a head of midnight hair, and his thoughts once again went where they shouldn’t, his mind conditioned to always, always think of _him_. 

“ _I_ -,” he pulled his cigarette from his mouth, “- _za_ -” tapped the ash onto the concrete, “- _ya_ ,” and hated the way his heart began to stutter. He mouthed the flea’s name again, quieter, staring vacantly at the unpolished toes of his shoes, hating even more how much he missed saying that name to the person it belonged to. 

He sighed, knowing it was dangerous to start thinking about all the things he wanted; all the things he’d never have. 

_Focus on the good_ , he commanded, doing his best to heed Celty and Shinra’s advice. 

His gaze flickered to the entrance of the restaurant and all he could think was that he didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to be here, with her, forcing himself.

_Izaya_ , he thought again, and again, and again. His eyes moved to find another head of midnight hair. His cheek throbbed, his heart continued to race. 

Dating Mari wasn’t going to help him. She wasn’t going to make anything better. He knew that, and yet he was still here, because doing _something_ at least made him feel like he was trying. Running away was a whole lot easier on his conscience than just standing still and waiting to be bowled over. 

Cowardice had never suited anyone more. 

“Sorry about that. She probably would’ve come with us if I’d let her.” Pleasant brown eyes met his, and Shizuo snuffed his cigarette beneath the sole of his shoe as Mari came to stand by his side, her smile warm, countenance welcoming and uncomplicated. “If we hurry I think we’ll just make the opening previews,” she continued, casually winding her arm around his and gently guiding him into the crowd.

Shizuo glanced down at their linked arms, at the way her tiny hand so easily grasped his forearm. Eventually their pacing fell in sync, their footsteps a little less awkward. The touch made him feel nothing, and he wondered if it was supposed to. 

They continued on in silence, and it was as they neared the theater that he realized this was it for him. 

He tried to rouse his interest by concentrating on how soft her skin felt, how warm her touch was against his arm. Tentatively he leaned closer, just enough to feel her shoulder brush his, noticing the way her fingers pressed into his skin in response. Sensing his gaze, her eyes moved to his and she smiled.

He glanced away, uncomfortable, his gaze briefly meeting that of a stranger, the light from a nearby café reflecting crimson in eyes that were too round to be familiar.

His heart slammed against his wounded ribcage.

* * *

It was like observing animals in a zoo, and Izaya really had no idea why he expected anything different. As predicted, Shizuo was proving to be quite the boring date for poor little Mari-chan. He’d always suspected the brute lacked any sort of awareness when it came to socializing with the opposite sex, but tonight he hadn’t even met Izaya’s exorbitantly low expectations. 

Admittedly, he was surprised to see the two walking together with linked arms. Of course it was all Mari’s doing, but still, the protozoan was _allowing_ it. Shizuo never allowed _anyone_ other than a very select few to step so close unless he trusted them, which meant that this date was going far better than Izaya was willing to admit. 

Equally trying was Mari’s refusal to look at her phone. He must’ve annoyed her. It was true that spying on her _had_ never been part of the deal, but seeing as he hadn’t bothered procuring a contract to delegate boundaries, Izaya didn’t consider this infringing on any sort of rights. 

So he made himself quite comfortable on a bench across the street, the hood of his newly purchased jacket the perfect way to mask his face should Shizuo grow curious and glance over. Not that he would. The idiot was probably too concerned with the girl at his side. It was like giving a puppy to a toddler and expecting them to know how to take care of it. Shizu-chan was absolutely clueless, and in his own way, all the more adorable. 

_Because he’s pathetic, ne?_

“Izaya?” A voice, deep and familiar, cut like a hot knife into his concentration. “What’re you doing here?”

The raven-haired teen tensed before glancing over at the brunette who’d just taken the seat beside him. He relaxed, eyes returning to Shizuo and Mari. “Nothing at all, Dota-chin.” 

Having known Izaya for a couple of years, Kadota wasn’t near naïve enough to believe that. He also knew that asking was pointless. “New jacket?”

Delighted his companion had noticed, Izaya removed his hood to reveal a pleased smile. “It was very expensive.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Following Izaya’s line of sight, Kadota sighed. _Should’ve known_. “So you’re watching Shizuo, huh?” 

Lip curling, Izaya stretched a pale finger over his mouth. “Just having a little fun, ne.” 

The taller teen shook his head. “You have a weird definition of fun.” 

They settled into a familiar silence, both watching as the two across the street slowly approached the box office for tickets. Izaya observant, Kadota contemplative. The medical tape on Izaya’s face and the remnants of a healing bruise hadn’t gone unnoticed. Neither had Shizuo’s, and it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots. 

Unfortunately, connecting the dots was all Kadota would be allowed, because asking questions rarely got him or anyone else anywhere when it came to Izaya. The guy was a pro at talking in circles, skirting around the point so gracefully that by the end of the conversation he’d end up with only more questions than he started with, and zero answers. If asked about unimportant things, Izaya was an open book. But ask him about Shizuo and it was like having a door slammed in your face. Kadota could practically hear the sound of a lock clicking into place. 

“So that’s the girl everyone’s been talking about?” He wasn’t personally one to take any notice of gossip, but when news reached him that some girl had confessed to the infamous beast of Raijin, he couldn’t help but be curious. Suddenly he was feeling a little guilty that he was so quick to doubt the rumor, thinking no one would dare try and date Shizuo. Not just because his strength was something to consider, but it was a known fact he carried a lot of undesirable baggage, the skinny teen to his left being part of it. If you wanted Shizuo, you had to be willing to deal with Izaya too, and not his _nice_ side, either. 

Kadota could honestly say he felt sorry for the girl, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Izaya stepped in to reclaim what was ‘his’. And he would do so, making sure to be as cruel as possible. Izaya, after all, wasn’t the type to just hit and run without first twisting the knife. 

Izaya’s smile stretched, the expression nearing spite. “That’s the one. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she actually is.” 

“It’s a shame she has such poor taste.”

Kadota’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not planning on trying to take her from—”

“You know I don’t date, Dota-chin. It’s against my rules.” 

Rules. Right. “You have more girlfriends than I have fingers.”

Slim shoulders shrugged. “I’m sure they’re aware it’s one-sided. If they choose to devote themselves to me, I’ll take advantage. It’s not as if their feelings are sincere, ne. As long as I give them the illusion that I care, they’ll do whatever I ask them to. It’s a win-win.” 

The brunette shook his head, smiling dryly. “You’re so lucky, and you don’t even know it.” 

“Lucky?” Izaya repeated, smile disappearing, voice chilled. “No, Dota-chin, I’m not lucky. I just know how to get what I want in order to accomplish what I need. It’s not luck, it’s talent.” 

“Yeah, well, having your face has to help.” 

Grin returning, Izaya turned his full attention on the other teen, taking a moment to admire a face that was quite good-looking in its own respect. “You’re not about to confess to me too, are you?” 

Disgust wiped all amusement off of Kadota’s face and he leaned away. “I don’t swing that way, man.” And then, as if the thought just occurred to him, he asked, “Do _you?_ ”

Again, Izaya shrugged, unrestrained gaze drifting to Shizuo. “If I thought it was worth it, I might.”

Kadota paused, unsure he wanted to know, too curious to wave it off. “And what does that mean?”

“I don’t do anything unless there’s something to gain from it. That includes sex, Dota-chin.”

He wasn’t sure why this surprised him because it made perfect sense given it was Izaya he was speaking to and the guy’s brain didn’t exactly function like everyone else’s. Still, it was difficult to believe that a guy who was always surrounded by girls would have no interest in pursuing even a physical relationship. “It feels good.” 

“Not much more than my hand.” As he said this, his eyes roamed over Shizuo’s back, recalling the sight of scarred skin, hard muscle, the sharp feel of those hipbones pressed between his thighs. 

Aggravated, he looked away. 

Kadota shook his head. “That’s sort of depressing, Izaya.” 

“What’s _depressing_ is needing to rely on someone else to gratify your needs, Dota-chin. It’s much more efficient to only need oneself, don’t you think? A child learns to feed, bathe, and ultimately satisfy itself. I see no reason why, as adults, the progression towards total independence should stop, ne.”

“Nah, that sounds kind of lonely.” 

Izaya’s shoulder lifted in a shrug that almost managed expression. 

Changing the subject, because talking about Izaya’s libido wasn’t exactly his favorite topic of conversation, Kadota inquired gracelessly, “So, why exactly are you stalking them?” 

“ _Observing_ ,” Izaya corrected smoothly before lying through his impeccably aligned teeth, “Obviously I had to see for myself just how stupid this girl was to want to date Shizu-chan.” 

_You always have an excuse._ Removing his hat, Kadota studied it before replying, discomfort evident in the gruff tenor of his voice, “I know you disagree, but Shizuo’s an alright guy. I don’t think it’s stupid that a girl likes him.” 

As was usually the case when someone complimented the protozoan, Izaya couldn’t contain his displeasure, tongue clicking loudly against his teeth. “I’m aware he’s _kind_. That doesn’t change the fact he’s a monster, does it?” 

Brown eyes lifted to the blond teen that was his friend and classmate. “Y’know, Izaya, you’re—”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Dota-chin, and I will lose all value for your opinion.”

“You’re unfair,” he finished firmly. “Shizuo’s not the only one with issues, and he’s a better guy than most of the people you associate with.”

Crimson eyes rolled in their sockets. “If you’re asking me to join the Shizuo Heiwajima fan club, I’ll have to decline. Shinra’s already tried to recruit me, and he’s much more clever than you.” 

Kadota smiled, the expression lacking humor. “If there _was_ a Shizuo fan club, you’d be the damn founder. No one is as obsessed with the guy as you are.” 

Immediately growing defensive, Izaya’s lips thinned, unable to deny a claim that was a little too accurate. “I only hate him. I’d advise you to stop purposefully misinterpreting my actions, ne.”

“And I’m only telling you that I don’t buy your story.” 

Knowing precisely where this conversation was directed, Izaya sighed, forcing casualness into his demeanor though he felt none. He was too on edge, this feeling of someone trying to figure him out prompting him to build a bigger, stronger wall for his defenses. And he already felt as if he’d said too much. “We’re not going to have that ‘you’re in denial’ talk again, are we? It’s useless.” 

Resting back against the bench, Kadota watched as people walked past, all unaware that their every movement was being observed and analyzed by an ever-watchful pair of crimson eyes. “We _could_.” 

Izaya remained quiet, telling himself he had no interest in such a conversation, knowing full well he didn’t trust how he might respond. It was no surprise that his least favorite topic of discussion was Shizuo, but that had less to do with his loathing for the blond than it did the fact that his every word had to be selected carefully, his phrasing and tone monitored constantly, because it really _was_ easy to misinterpret his feelings.

_Too_ easy, and he was tired of correcting everyone. 

“But I don’t think you’re in denial; I just think you’re a coward.” 

Ruby eyes swore vengeance as they met unyielding, perceptive brown. “I’ve managed to harm the most indestructible beast in Ikebukuro. Doing the same to you would be far from a challenge.” 

Understanding that was his cue to leave, Kadota drew himself from the bench, returning his hat to his head. And then his eyes moved back to Shizuo, watching as the girl at his side shuffled closer, stealing tiny glances. 

As he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost tentative. “I don’t know if you consider us friends, but I’m going to speak to you like we are.” His attention moved back to Izaya, holding a stare that promised death should he say what he was going to say anyway. “That girl he’s with, he might end up dating. If he does and you don’t like it, don’t screw it up for him just because you didn’t take your chance when you had it.” 

Oh god, _how_ in the world did he ever consider Dota-chin worthy of his time and attention? 

_Chance._

Izaya’s laughter bubbled up from deep within his chest, a place that was dark and often forgotten, the sound unpleasant and contrived. When he was finished, he stood, stretching his limbs as he approached the brunette, leveling him with a malicious smirk. “Whatever chance you may be referring to, Dota-chin, does not exist. And even if it did, I’d have no interest. There is nothing I want with Shizuo other than to kill him. However, since you obviously have no intention of believing me, let me remind you this: he said it first, ne? He was the one that started this, not me.” 

“And aren’t you a little too old to be holding grudges?” Kadota challenged, not moving his eyes away, although sensing he’d encroached miles into Izaya’s personal territory; a place no one should tread unless armed with heavy artillery. “Shizuo is a good guy, and he doesn’t hate people without reason. He’s also the kind of guy that knows how to forgive. It could be different between you two if you just backed off.” 

Izaya paused, struck silent by those familiar words spoken just days ago by a certain blond. A promise that they could be something more. Something tame and kind. 

_It’s not impossible, flea._

The memory resurfaced acute distaste and his lips thinned, anger darkening his garnet gaze. 

Obviously the brute had suffered some form of head trauma because there was no other explanation for such a blatant, depressingly desperate lie.

Him and Shizuo, _friends_. He’d settle down with a conservative housewife and father a healthy family before he allowed Shizuo to look at him the way Kadota, Shinra, and everyone else did. As if he were just another person. 

He’d worked much too hard, had sacrificed too much time and resources in order to cultivate this dynamic between them, and now the entire world was trying to tear it down.

He wouldn’t let it happen. 

As fast as a flipped switch, Izaya’s veneer shifted, shoulders relaxing. “I _appreciate_ your concern, Dota-chin, but whatever BL fantasies Shinra’s been feeding you have obviously affected your judgment, and I don’t have the patience to stand around listening to your nonsense. While I’m sure the thought of me and Shizu-chan fucking might be exciting for you, it’s never going to happen. So sorry to disappoint.” 

Glancing across the street in time to see Shizuo and Mari slip inside the theater, Izaya pulled his fur-lined hood around his face as he moved away, brandishing a hand as he departed. “Excuse me, I have a movie to watch. Goodnight, Dota-chin. This talk was painfully boring. Let’s not do it again.”

* * *

Movies weren’t really Shizuo’s thing. If it had been him that had planned the date and not Izaya, he probably wouldn’t have even considered going to the theater. For one, sitting for that long and not being able to smoke was hard on him, and two, movies were rarely very interesting. And of course, Mari had to decide on the last movie he’d ever want to watch out of his choices. Some stupid as hell romance. 

Dragging his eyes back to the screen, he tried to remember what was going on, figuring it was best he pay some attention just in case Mari wanted to talk about it afterwards. The story was something about a girl, a boy, and the complications that came with an unrequited love, although calling this situation complicated was a smack in the face to anyone who really knew what it was like to want someone who didn’t want them back. The heroine seemed to have no problem getting what she wanted half an hour in when her love interest miraculously seemed to return her feelings out of damn nowhere. 

Hell, if all it fucking took was a handful of cheesy lines and some flowers, it wouldn’t be Mari sitting beside him now, that was for damn sure. Just another reason romances bothered the shit out of him; they were too unrealistic. According to cinema, as long as the hero tried hard enough, no matter the circumstance, they’d be sure to have a happy ending. Or die. Either way, no one really had to suffer for more than the amount of time it took for him to finish a box of candy.

It was probably best for him not to watch because the complete infeasibility was starting to chafe on his last nerve, which could mean bad news for those sitting close by, particularly the girl to his left who kept sighing longingly whenever the onscreen lovers embraced. 

Like now.

The blond teen watched on, increasingly uncomfortable, as the actors began to strip off each other’s clothing until the screen was nothing but a whole lot of close up shots of naked skin and attached mouths. And then there was a bunch of touching and gripping sheets and gasping and—

Shizuo’s heart stilled when he felt soft fingers brush across his knuckles. 

At first Mari’s fingers were hesitant, merely brushing over his as if to ask permission. However, when he didn’t make any move to reply, she became a little bolder, winding her fingers over his hand and clasping it gently on the seat beside his thigh. And then, all too soon, her head was resting against his shoulder, her thumb rubbing tiny circles against his skin.

Her skin was warm and soft, her touch normal, unintimidating. And like earlier, Shizuo felt nothing. His heart steadied, calmed by the fact that it was _just her_. 

It only bothered him that his body had immediately anticipated it being someone else.

The only real issue was that he needed to be careful, because she was delicate and human in the ways he wasn’t, and his grip could crush her bones to dust if he wasn’t careful. As long as he kept his palm flush against the seat, his fingers were in no position to accidentally break hers. 

Out of nowhere it sort of hit him that he was on a date. A real, honest-to-god _date_. He wasn’t just hanging out with some girl. It was more than that, which meant that— 

Immediately his eyes were drawn back to the film, panic embracing him with cold arms as he took in the sight of strong hands smoothing over feminine curves, gripping rounded hips and tangling in long hair. 

_Shit_. Maybe he should’ve paid closer attention. What was normal nowadays anyway? Did people usually end up in bed together on the first date? Was that something she expected him to do? Or was it the second date? Or maybe she was one of those girls that wanted to save herself for marriage. Hell, could he even _do it?_

None-too-stealthily he glanced over at her crossed legs, slender and smooth, her chest, rising softly with her breathing. She was so pretty, so dainty and frail. It wasn’t like he’d never been interested in girls before. He liked them a lot, actually, and he’d probably have no issue physically responding to one. The idea didn’t disgust him. 

She just wasn’t—

He grit his teeth, forcing his thoughts away from their projected path, knowing it was useless, but desperate to fight free. 

Walking close was fine. Holding hands was okay. But anything more than that…

He couldn’t. Not when he continued to imagine what it might be like, even now, if this were the flea next to him instead. 

But Izaya’s hand was so much bigger than Mari’s, his fingers longer and bonier, although no less pretty. But they _were_ more resilient, and Shizuo knew that if this _were_ Izaya’s hand he wouldn’t feel afraid of holding it. 

And just like a stone rolling downhill, quickly gaining momentum and becoming increasingly harder to stop, so was his imagination, which was eager to betray him with the fantasy that this was also Izaya’s head resting against his shoulder, the flea having grown tired, dark lashes fluttering closed against pale skin as he relaxed against Shizuo, uncaring that there were other people in the theater because Izaya didn’t care about the opinions of others and Shizuo couldn’t think about anything other than _Izaya_ and that he was with him and they weren’t fighting, but _together_ —

Mari laughed, throwing Shizuo from his deviating thoughts, a rush of cold air sweeping over his skin. 

He pulled his hand from under hers, the movement causing her to lift her head and meet his eyes, searching to find any sign that she’d somehow offended him. But she couldn’t discern anything, his gaze refusing to meet hers as he stood.

“Gonna smoke,” he said quietly, excusing himself to descend the stairs to reenter the lobby. 

Immediately sensing that something was wrong, Mari watched him leave, insecurity forming a crinkled frown on glossy lips. Unable to shrug off the feeling but incapable of mustering the courage to follow after him, she instead fell into her seat, dejected.

Moments later, warm breath caressed the shell of her ear. “Good evening, Mari-chan.” 

The whispered greeting made her jolt in surprise, hot breath and the smell of mint jarring her out of her comfort zone. Whipping around angrily in her seat, she glared at the hooded figure hovering over her shoulder. “How long have you been sitting there?” She hissed under her breath.

“The entire time, ne. You have very poor taste, by the way. This movie is awful. I almost pity the protozoan.” A grin spread over Izaya’s shadowed features, shielding from view the burn of aggravation he’d been feeling ever since Mari had reached for Shizuo’s hand.

Her frown deepened. “You are—”

A firm finger pressed over her mouth, Izaya silencing her before she managed to draw any unwanted attention from the surrounding audience. Really, if she’d just look at her phone this could all be avoided. “When he returns, I want you to meet me in the women’s restroom.”

“Why?” She challenged after the lone digit was removed from her lips. 

Izaya forced an amiable smile as he stood. “Just do it.”

* * *

Izaya was leaning against the sink counter in the women’s restroom, inspecting the fading bruise on his cheek with mild interest when Mari entered. 

“Lock the door.” 

Doing as instructed, she eyed his new jacket with a look that screamed her disapproval. “What are you wearing?”

Izaya moved to stand before her, no longer bothering to appear genteel. There was rigidity in his gait, a simmering anger in the dark garnet of his gaze. “That should be my question, ne. Or is it your plan to fuck him? I should warn you, Shizu-chan is too much of a coward to touch a girl, so don’t get your hopes up.” 

Mari backed away, curling a protective fist against her chest to shield herself from his castigating glare. 

Her refusal to answer sent a jolt of ice up Izaya’s spine. Making sure she was looking at him, he searched her face for any clue to her intentions. “Are you?” 

Something about the way he asked this gave Mari the impression that whatever her answer was, it was important. Very important. “You never said I couldn’t.”

“I’m saying it now,” he articulated with frigid authority. “Keep your legs closed, ne.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do with my legs,” she argued, sidestepping him and approaching the mirror, sending him a reproachful glare as she pulled out a tube of lip-gloss. “You never said I couldn’t, you said I didn’t have to. Well maybe I _want_ to.” 

Arguing would get him nowhere. Very few people managed to achieve much in the heat of anger. The brain tended to shut down, all good sense of judgment shoved aside by excessive antagonism. He wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from either, but was conscious that the feeling had been simmering below the surface of his rationale since the early evening when he noticed Mari hanging all over the over-trusting brute.

Inhaling slowly, Izaya forced himself to calm, his mask smoothly slipping into place as he turned towards her and met her gaze in the mirror. 

“He won’t like it,” he attempted to explain.

“I know.” Returning the makeup wand to its tube, Mari hesitated, the words she really wanted to say shying from her tongue. “I’m also not the type of girl that sleeps with a guy on the first date.” 

_Aren’t you?_ Izaya refrained from asking, nearing the petite girl from behind, pale fingers reaching forward to smooth over a gently rounded hip.

Her eyes met his, intrigued by the unspoken suggestion. 

_So easy_ , he thought, entirely disinterested. Had there ever been a time when he would’ve been interested? His eyes fell to her chest, the enticing swell of her breasts, her tight waist and smooth legs.

She was beautiful, and so agonizingly boring. 

“I don’t get it,” she sighed, turning to face him. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Not expecting such a direct question, Izaya paused. “I’m fine.”

“You’re angry, and for some reason you’re taking it out on me.” 

Ah, he supposed that was partly true. Sometimes it was nice being honest, and he saw no harm in admitting a little bit of the truth. “It’s frustrating, ne. Having to rely on someone else to do my work.” 

Mari’s arms folded, the defensive line of her mouth relaxing now that Izaya was at least explaining why he was being such an ass towards her. “By _work_ you mean me dating Shizuo.” 

His silence served as his answer.

She grinned, the expression stiff. “Are you saying _you’d_ rather do it?” 

“I’m not saying anything,” he replied coolly. “Although it would be nice to cut out the middleman and do it myself.” 

“You mean me.”

He could feel it, his mask momentarily slipping, the muscles in his face hardening with distaste as he stared down at the girl who had the opportunity to do everything he couldn’t. “I mean you.” 

She shrugged, unsympathetic. 

Curiously, Izaya watched as she dug her movie ticket from her purse and carefully placed it inside her wallet for safekeeping. Her diverted attention did little to disguise the upset in a dark chocolate gaze. “Is there…something wrong with him?”

The raven-haired teen smirked. “Where should I start?” 

But Mari was shaking her head, frustration clear in the crease of her brow. “No, that’s not—” she sighed, her fingers massaging her hairline as her troubled gaze found refuge in the mosaic tiled floor. “I don’t think he likes me, Izaya.” 

The bathroom grew quiet but for the leaking faucet and constant surge of air through piping. 

“Explain, ne.” 

“There’s just no…” she searched for the right word that could translate the way Shizuo never quite looked at her, how withdrawn and simply not _there_ he felt even when they were side-by-side, how stiff and quiet he became when she touched him, smiled at him, as if everything would just be easier if she just wasn’t _there_ , “…chemistry.” 

“Then try harder.”

A sharp laugh cut through the air as she lifted her gaze back to his. “It doesn’t really work that way. It’s either there or it isn’t. You’ve dated before, haven’t you?”

It wasn’t a question she really wanted an answer for, but she received one anyway when feline cherry narrowed as if to guard against being seen. Thin arms folded beneath a skinny ribcage, pale hands clutching at sharp elbows. Izaya’s voice was quiet, the sound carrying frost. “Is that relevant?”

“Well, if you’ve loved someone, then you know what I’m talking about when I say it’s just not _there_ , right?” Dark ruby held her gaze, her words garnering no response, and she knew in that moment that Izaya had no idea what she was talking about. Pity softened her dislike of him. “Me and Shizuo just aren’t supposed to be together.” 

_Supposed to be_. “Do you expect me to believe there are people in this world that are meant to be?”

“Not necessarily, but,” she paused, her eyes reminiscent and distant in a way that gave Izaya the impression she was referring to someone specifically as she spoke, “for some of us, there just can’t be anyone else.” 

“And has Shizu-chan given you reason to believe that there _is_ someone else?” Those words left little air in his throat, the possibility one he’d never considered. One that he didn’t _like_ for all the uncertainty and the unknown that had absolutely nothing to do with him and what he wanted. 

“All I know is that he’s dealing with something, but he’ll never tell me what that is.” 

“Then if there’s nothing else you can do for me, find out what that is at least.” 

“What do you want to know?”

“If there’s something wrong with him. Other than the obvious, of course.” As he spoke, he scrutinized the specks of glitter in her lip-gloss. “Be very personal and direct. He doesn’t respond well to subtlety. He’s too stupid.” 

Taking slight offense on Shizuo’s behalf, Mari frowned. “I don’t think he’s stupid at all.” 

“What you think is irrelevant, ne? I didn’t hire you so I could have a third person trying to convince me that I’m wrong about him.”

“You are.”

“Yes, I know,” Izaya bit back, words cloaked in sarcasm. “I’m sure he’s perfect.” 

“I’m not saying he’s perfect. He’s just…” and her focus softened, her face warmed, and Izaya noticed everything and his disdain for her had never been so strong, “…not as much of a monster as you think he is.” 

“You like him.” 

She flushed. “So what?” She returned her purse to her shoulder, eyeing him guardedly. “This isn’t my first experience with unrequited love.”

“Love?” That airless feeling returned, though this time it was that much worse. White fingers tightened in the sleeve of his jacket. 

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m not saying I’m quitting, by the way. I’m still hoping that maybe he’s just having a bad day or something. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Her finger lifted to her glossy mouth and she smiled. 

Apparently their conversation was over as she moved past him to leave. Touching her wrist as she neared the door, Izaya pulled her attention back towards him, his eyes once again falling to her mouth. Not hesitating, he leaned in, just barely pressing his mouth against hers. The action meant nothing and made him feel even less, the sensation of sticky gloss against his mouth off-putting. Pulling away, he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip to taste. “Vanilla, ne.” 

Face rosy, eyes glazed, she stared back clearly unsatisfied. “It’s his favorite flavor, right?”

Understanding the implications of those words and why it was important that her mouth tasted like vanilla, a chill swept through Izaya’s veins, slowing his reflexes and putting a stopper to all subsequent thought. 

He reached out for her wrist to stop her, but she was gone.

* * *

She couldn’t get a word out of him other than the occasional ‘yeah’ and ‘oh’. The walk from the theater to her home was uncomfortable, her date reserved and staring vacantly at the sidewalk beneath their feet, hands in his pockets, a foot of distance between them. 

Mari didn’t know where Izaya was, but she suspected he was probably around somewhere, watching from the bushes or the roof of a house. She hoped he was still back at the theater, but she doubted he was very far at all. She wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with him chastising her for once again failing at her task, but ever since Shizuo had returned from his smoke break at the theater he’d been giving her the silent treatment. 

If anything, at least the weather was nice. Sighing softly, she slowed her step, allowing her detached date to catch up. Once they were side-by-side, she nudged him with her elbow, smiling when she regained his attention.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied, quiet.

Deciding it might do them some good to take a little detour, Mari lead the way onto a back road, empty but for the occasional passerby and a much easier way of shaking off any unwanted stalkers. 

Shizuo’s eyes moved to glance at her profile as she casually took hold of his hand, her fingers clinging to the backs of his knuckles, her palm warm, soft. For the first time that night he wanted to pull his hand away because this time it felt different. More intimate, somehow. Romantic and everything that he wasn’t ready to be with her.

He couldn’t lie to himself, and he couldn’t lie to her. 

“Hey.”

Pausing her step, Mari glanced back, eyes meeting hazel. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Go ahead.”

He touched the back of his head, looked away. “What made you decide to tell me?” 

She was quiet while she considered the question. Understanding what he meant, she glanced down, feeling guilty that she was being forced to improvise a lie. “I guess I just felt I had nothing to lose.”

“You weren’t afraid I’d say no?” 

Unsure how to answer, she thought carefully, eventually shaking her head. “Just a little.” 

“If you—” Shizuo’s throat tightened, but his drive for guidance pushed him past it, “If you knew for sure I would’ve said no, would you’ve told me anyway?” 

Somehow she had a feeling this wasn’t a random conversation. Call it women’s intuition, but something in the back of her mind was telling her she needed to pay close attention because he was telling her something, and if she listened close enough, she could hear it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

His gaze darkened, her answer disappointing.

Stepping closer, she urged him to look at her, eager to read him. “Why?”

And once again he dropped his gaze. “It’s nothin’.” 

That was a lie. “I think I’d want you to know, even if I thought you’d turn me down.” 

“And when I said no, you wouldn’t hate yourself?”

“No, because I’d be able to move on.”

He nodded, the motion rigid, his entire body unable to comprehend what that even meant. “If you couldn’t?”

_Oh._

It happened rather quickly, realization igniting the figurative bulb floating invisible above her head. And when it happened, it sort of stung, disappointment an emotion that never really knew when to say when. Never really pulled any punches. The letdown was always difficult, the feeling leaving her a little bruised, mentally and emotionally winded.

But somehow she’d expected this. She just really hoped that in this case, she wasn’t right. “Do you like someone, Heiwajima-kun?” 

His gaze flew back to hers, eyes imploring, panicked, tongue caught behind his teeth, unable to lie because she was looking at him like she already knew. 

It was amazing how everyone just somehow seemed to figure it out and he didn’t even have to say anything. Some people took longer than others. Mari took less than a week. 

He couldn’t answer her, regret and apology choking him to silence.

“Who?” She eventually asked once the surprise had subsided. 

Shizuo shook his head. “Don’t ask me who it is. Just—” He sighed, eyes closing. “Don’t.” 

She nodded, the action going unnoticed. 

“I’m sorry,” he ground out, the words painful and too familiar. 

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not fuckin’ okay. I—” He hesitated, grappling with the severity of his transgression. “I had no damn right to do this to you.” 

He was the fucking worst. Using her like this. Leading her on. All because he was desperate for a distraction. It served him right that it’d just blown up in his face, every glance her way a cruel reminder that she would never be who he wanted her to be. 

No one deserved to be treated like that.

And he hadn’t meant to. He didn’t _want_ to. If somehow this could work out, it’d be a damn miracle. But he wasn’t going to experiment with someone’s feelings. He wasn’t going to drag someone down with him.

“And I thought it was going pretty well.” She tried to laugh, to lighten the mood, but it was surprisingly difficult. This situation was awful. She’d been broken up with multiple times, but never on the first date. If this had happened with anyone else, she’d let them have it. But his pain was palpable, his distress drawing her in, making her curious, having her wonder who it was that made him feel this way. “Do you like me even a little?” Sheer curiosity, a shadow of hope. 

It took everything he had to meet her eyes, his expression speaking volumes.

_Crap_. A warm flush, natural and _real_ bloomed in her cheeks as his sincerity touched something deep within her, her heart kick starting with the delicate ferocity of an impeccably tuned engine despite the sudden onrush of envy she felt for whoever this mystery girl was. 

Shizuo was nice and he was honest, and in those ways alone he was so different from any of the guys she’d dated before, but she’d never expected to actually _feel_ anything other than attraction towards him. _Crap, crap, crap, this is bad._

Part of her knew that this was for the best. She still had the money she’d made thus far, and she wouldn’t have to deal with this situation any longer. Izaya would be out of her life and so would this guilt that had been riding on her shoulders ever since she first looked into those trusting hazel eyes and told him she liked him. Now it wasn’t feeling as much a lie anymore, but that in and of itself was frightening because she knew that this wouldn’t have a happy ending for her. Something in her gut told her that she had no place in his life, that she was merely a visiting guest in a story where he would never view her as a main character. 

His fingers were dead, slack and uninterested in her hand, but his eyes were intent on her face, focused and vulnerable and—

_Damn it_. She sighed as soon as she felt the butterflies wake beneath her ribcage. “Whoever this person is, she’s lucky.” The words were accompanied with a soft, _genuine_ smile. “She must be amazing.” 

“They’re not.” 

Thin brows lifted, confused. “No?”

And maybe Shizuo had no idea what he was doing when his fingers first brushed against his bruised cheek before burying in his pocket, his eyes detached and focused on thoughts of someone else, those thoughts warming his expression and softening everything about him in a way that made her heart stumble and leap into her throat. “He’s sorta the biggest asshole in the whole damn world.” 

_He_. She realized she was staring at him, caught up in watching the breeze blow soft gold against a tanned cheek, repeating over and over and over _he_. 

Not realizing his slipup, Shizuo sighed, the sound resigned and weary, as if he was finished with this and ready to go, but unsure how to go about it. “Anyway, sorry. I know it’s not what you deserve to hear, but I’m not very good at this sorta thing, so…” 

“It’s okay. At least you told me sooner than later, right?” 

He nodded, his expression apologetic and disagreeing. 

A shy, embarrassed flush darkened her cheeks when she realized she was still clutching his hand. Releasing it, she stepped away. “Anyway, I think I can walk the rest by myself. It isn’t far.”

Shizuo’s hand slipped inside his pocket. “You sure?”

Withholding a grateful smile, she nodded, continuing on down the street with a tiny wave in parting. “Goodnight, Shizuo-kun.” 

From the confines of her purse, her cell phone trilled. It was as she was still repeating _he_ and _asshole_ that she read _Izaya_ , and all too quickly the words seemed to feel synonymous. 

Her steps slowed, losing momentum beneath the weight of her shock, numbed still with surprise and the sheer force of her incredulity. She glanced over her shoulder at Shizuo’s retreating form and thought—

_Oh._

* * *

Somewhere around Russia Sushi Shizuo’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He didn’t bother to look at the ID. “What?”

“So rude, Shizu-chan. Really, what sort of greeting is that?” 

Pace slowing, Shizuo glanced around, suspicious of every dark corner, hoping his sudden unease would last long enough to subdue the ache. “The hell are you calling me for, Izaya?”

“Where are you?”

“None of your damn business.”

“We can either play hide-and-seek or get straight to the fun part and you can come chase me. Take your pick, I’m bored.” 

_Bored_. That was fine. The asshole could stay bored. Tonight he wasn’t in any mood or condition to be chasing anyone. “Don’t feel like it, flea.” 

The teen on the other end was quiet, no doubt expecting an entirely different response.

Normally Shizuo would never allow himself to be this out of character in front of Izaya. But tonight he was tired, drained, and with the way his body felt anchored to the ground he doubted he’d be able to chase him very far anyway. 

It was hard running after someone you wanted to catch but were too afraid to reach for. 

“Did your little date go that badly, Shizu-chan?”

“It was fine,” the blond refuted. “I just don’t want to see you.” 

Izaya laughed. “You never do, ne.”

The line went dead, and it was Shizuo’s own fault for being naïve enough to believe their conversation was over. He had just turned the corner past Russia Sushi when he saw him, standing there in some jacket he’d never seen before and looking like the cat that’d caught the mouse. He was smiling, and that always meant bad news. 

“Long time no see, Shizu-chan.”

The blond sighed, lowering his eyes as if looking away would make Izaya disappear. “It’s only been a few days.”

“And yet you’re keeping track.” 

First it was a hand placed delicately against his forearm, a mouth resting beside his ear, the position alarmingly intimate and close for two guys standing in the middle of a busy Ikebukuro street. What passerby couldn’t see was the sharp blade currently sliding along Shizuo’s inner thigh, pausing at the juncture of his legs.

Izaya’s cheek brushed his temple as he smiled. “Exactly how many times do I need to threaten Kasuka-kun to get you to listen to me?” 

“You don’t.” Shizuo’s teeth grinded, hands useless against a threat he had no way of fending off. It was moments like these when he really questioned what he saw in this guy and why the hell it had to be him. Even now, Shizuo’s fingers were aching to reach forward and close the distance between his hand and Izaya’s.

No doubt doing so would mean his immediate castration. 

“Follow me, ne.” 

Izaya was bad news. Following Izaya into a dark alley was _really_ bad news, and if Shizuo had a choice in the matter he’d be doing this back out in the street where there were too many witnesses for Izaya to do as he pleased. But he’d been in enough fights to sense one coming and knew that this wasn’t going to turn into a bloody, fist-throwing brawl. By the time they turned a corner where no one would ever be able to see them, Izaya’s knife had already regained its place between Shizuo’s thighs, pointed end scraping teasingly against the metal zipper of his pants.

It wasn’t the alley that was frightening. It wasn’t the darkness and it wasn’t the knife. It was the fact Izaya wasn’t saying anything. 

A lone streetlamp connected to a power pole was the only source of illumination, its orange glow doing little to brighten a crimson gaze that was currently focused on a frowning, thin mouth. The attractive curve of a sharp cheekbone was still masked beneath tape, porcelain skin darkened with bruises. He looked tired, the set of his mouth a little less cocky, his skin not as vibrant, hair slightly disheveled against a tensed brow. He was wearing the _ugliest_ fucking jacket Shizuo had ever seen, tufts of white fur lining the heavy hood around his shoulders, making him somehow seem even thinner beneath the loose fitting coat. 

And still, _still_ , he was the prettiest fucking thing Shizuo had ever laid eyes on. 

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t _fucking fair_ that he kept finding himself in these situations. Kept _allowing_ himself to be _put_ in these situations. The only reason Izaya had such confidence in their fights was simply because Shizuo was so unwilling to ever do anything to actually hurt him. Even now, it would be as easy as breathing for him to just reach out and snap the flea’s arm, break his bones and throw that knife into another hemisphere. 

It wasn’t that damn knife that kept him in place. It wasn’t his concern for what Izaya might do to his brother if he were to fight back. It was everything else. 

He knew precisely why he was here, pinned against a wall by the last person he should be seeing right now.

He wanted this. 

“You’ve been so calm lately,” Izaya began, only beginning to broach a subject that had been bothering him these past few weeks. He’d noticed everything. The deep quiet, the way that caramel gaze avoided him, the way _he_ avoided him. It wasn’t out of fear. Izaya knew what it looked like when someone was afraid of him. Shizuo wasn’t and never would be afraid. Whatever this was that was making the protozoan behave so strangely, it had nothing to do with fear.

“You just haven’t been pissing me off as much.” 

“Ah, so it’s my fault.” 

Their eyes met, fixated, the ever-present tension a slow burn of frustration beneath this façade of a rivalry.

Izaya’s attention fell back to Shizuo’s mouth. “Dota-chin tried to convince me that I don’t hate you. Isn’t that funny, Shizu-chan?”

It wasn’t a joke. It was a challenge; an implicit command voiced behind a cherry stare that desperately sought confirmation. 

Shizuo swallowed past the dryness of his throat, hating that he was going to make him say it. “Hilarious.” 

Izaya was no longer smiling, his gaze contemplative. “I don’t understand why they think that.” As if to remind him just how much he _didn’t_ like him, Izaya pressed the knife closer. 

“Probably cause you can’t keep your hand away from my crotch,” Shizuo growled, ass curving towards the brick wall in an effort to put some distance between his dick and that blade.

“I really can’t.” The words just barely sounded like a tease and failed to come across as one when Izaya bent his wrist just to drag his thumb against the front of Shizuo’s pants. 

The blond stiffened, jolting away from the touch, his actions only halting when he could once again feel that sharp knifepoint digging into his thigh. “Never thought you were the sexual harassment type of guy,” he ground out, heart a panicked mess as blood rushed to his groin. 

“Harassment?” Izaya repeated, the word unpleasant on his tongue. “Is that what this feels like to you?” 

A warm flush darkened Shizuo’s cheek, capturing Izaya’s attention. A particular sensation of awe caused him to stare as Shizuo attempted to shield his reaction by lowering that leonine gaze to the ground.

“What the fuck do you want, Izaya?”

Izaya was brought to a pause, the question unexpected because he didn’t actually know the answer. His attention moved once again to Shizuo’s mouth, focused on that dark flush beneath golden skin. The words left his mouth before he realized he’d voiced them. Severely curious. “Did you kiss her?” 

Surprise lifted Shizuo’s eyes back to his, the blond looking childishly bewildered for a moment. “No.”

Their eyes locked just before Izaya’s gaze lowered back to Shizuo’s mouth. 

The unexpectedly soft pad of the flea’s thumb pressed against Shizuo’s lower lip, gliding across. A flush of need warmed the area between Izaya’s thighs, tugged behind his navel, drawing him closer to his favorite monster, his gaze once more focused on that untouched mouth. 

“I bet you would hate it if I stole your first kiss.” Izaya’s eyes looked unfocused, their usual piercing intensity softened beneath a haze of desire. _Craving_. Pulling his thumb from Shizuo’s lip, he set it against his mouth just to taste, enjoying the way he teased himself almost as much as Shizuo was with that darkened blush on his unfairly handsome face. “Shizu-chan would be so angry with me.”

_Fuck_. Of all the challenges he’d been forced to endure, this was quickly turning out to be the hardest. Izaya’s attention had slackened and Shizuo figured he could probably get away if he timed it right, but the moment that wet tongue slipped out to taste his skin, it was game over. “You wanna die, flea?”

For the first time all night, a spark of excitement issued up Izaya’s spine, igniting a pleased smirk as he leaned forwards, mouth ghosting across the exposed flesh peeking from Shizuo’s white collared shirt. “Not quite yet, ne. There are still some things I need to do.” Taking advantage of this rare position of control, Izaya carded his fingers into the hair at Shizuo’s nape, pulling just to hear his breath tighten against his ear. “You, for starters.” 

The blond shivered, abdomen tensing in response to the scrape of blunt teeth against his neck. “Like hell.”

“You think I couldn’t convince you? I bet I could get you on your knees for me, and I wouldn’t even have to threaten your cute little brother to get you to do it.” 

The funny thing was, he wouldn’t. Not when the blond was already so desperate for a taste that the mere suggestion of it left him leaking against his own stomach. “Izaya—”

“Quiet.” Hearing the sound of his name spoken in that voice, growled through the angry clench of white teeth, was unexpectedly stirring. Really, this situation had taken quite an interesting turn from where he’d intended. His cock warmed, aching for the relief of something to press against. 

He was conscious of the importance that he leave this alone before he took it too far. But Shizuo’s skin tasted like salt, and Izaya found it difficult to move his mouth until the flesh beneath his tongue had turned red and swollen. Nipping at the over-sensitized skin, he brushed his nose against Shizuo’s jawline, a smile curling moistened lips as their eyes caught. 

_Chemistry_. Izaya smiled, his mouth hovering over Shizuo’s, feeling the brute freeze up like a marble statue, brow crinkled as he silently tried so hard to resist. 

“Don’t.”

Izaya paused, close enough to taste Shizuo’s breath against his tongue. Curious ruby lifted to unstable caramel, the monster’s gaze glimmering with panic. Annoyance made Izaya frown. “Did you resist this much when she tried to kiss you?” He was vaguely aware that Shizuo was trembling, could feel it when their chests brushed, as his knuckles came into contact with the hot inside of the brute’s thigh. “It’s just a kiss, Shizu-chan. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters, Izaya.” Shizuo was looking at him, directly and unguarded, burning leonine translating what those three words tried so hard to communicate beneath a veil of ambiguity. 

And for one, airless moment, Izaya looked like he understood _why_. Almost allowed himself to read between the lines. Disbelief, however, redirected him towards a safe-haven where Shizuo hated him and wanted him to die. A place that was black and white, void of gray areas where _maybe’s_ and _what if’s_ seemed a lot more plausible. It was only there, away from that place where perhaps he was _wrong_ , that his world could continue to stay upright. Any ulterior notions would simply turn the entire operation upside down, and Izaya Orihara really had no interest in falling. 

Those ruby eyes lost that brief light of incredulous realization, darkening to a provocative blood red. The knifepoint sliced through Shizuo’s pant leg as Izaya leaned closer, and he could feel the sting of a cut on his thigh. 

“For a dog, you’re not very good at begging, are you Shizuo?” Izaya’s mouth hovered a hairsbreadth away. Against his knuckles, he could feel Shizuo’s cock pulse and he smirked. “Be a good boy and don’t bite.” 

“ _Izaya_ —” was all Shizuo could breathe out in final, pleading warning before that warm, un-chapped mouth drew nearer and—

“Acutally,” Izaya suddenly paused, eyes alight, inspired, “you do it.” 

And it was at that moment Shizuo knew it was all over. Knew that there was no way he could hide anymore, no way he could pretend like he didn’t want this. 

This was never about options. Had nothing to do with choice. His hand was forced the moment he looked at Izaya and realized his everyday would never be the same in both the best and worst way possible. Because this was Izaya and he was Shizuo and for some goddamn elusive reason that’s all that seemed to matter as far as explanations went, and all those minor details like compatibility and gender preferences and the fact that they just fuckin’ couldn’t agree on most shit meant little to nothing in ways of swaying the fact that he’d never be able to want someone as much as he wanted this asshole flea. 

Because for as long as his legs worked he would never give up on chasing this goddamn louse even if it meant always having to suffer through his fingers forever only reaching desperately at his back. 

But right now, at this very moment, he could touch. Had been granted permission. He’d be a fool not to fuckin’ take what would probably ever be his only opportunity in this lifetime to have what he was so sure was supposed to be _his_. 

And his body felt it the moment his hand reached for Izaya’s cheek and skimmed across skin that felt like warm silk. _Mine_ was what his fingers were saying as they curled into midnight hair. _Mine_ he repeated as their noses touched and he tilted Izaya’s chin closer, ruby eyes sharp with warning that didn’t quite disguise panic as Shizuo’s touch threatened to smudge the line that was their boundary. 

_Mine._

That carefully drawn line was unsalvageable the moment Shizuo’s mouth pressed to Izaya’s, the kiss gentle in all the ways it shouldn’t be because it mocked everything that they were. Izaya’s lips parted against the first wet press of Shizuo’s tongue, his mouth filled with the taste of smoke and sugar, his lips left sticky and warm with every soft nip of teeth and slide of tongue. His breath hitched when his bottom lip was caught between the blunt pressure of Shizuo’s teeth, the bite sore before the blond’s tongue pressed to massage away the pain.

And all of this could’ve been excused away as virginal enthusiasm or general excitement if it weren’t for those hands holding his face as if he were something delicate, that mouth devouring him as if Shizuo had been waiting for this his entire life. 

Izaya couldn’t fight it, could do nothing to weaken the intensity of a kiss that was too intimate, too affectionate and revealing. His body had always been unreasonably receptive to Shizuo, so the wake of arousal between his thighs came as no surprise when the monster once again suckled at his lip and breathed his name into his mouth, thumb caressing the cut on his cheek, molten caramel implying things that they _shouldn’t_. Things that were impossible because this was Shizuo and he was Izaya and they hated each other and always would. 

_Hate me_ , he urged as his fingers slackened around his knife, pointed end falling away from Shizuo’s thigh. _Hate me, Shizuo_ , he thought, desperate, as Shizuo took advantage of his freedom to move closer until their hips were pressed as tightly as their mouths and it was now Izaya’s back against the rough brick wall. _Please_ as his fingers curled into white cotton and pulled, jaw aching as he kissed back, mouth pliant and hot and wet. 

And still, it would all be that much easier if Shizuo would just grind against him. There was nothing particularly profound about wanting to fuck. But _this_ —

Izaya made the mistake of looking the moment Shizuo pulled away to find the monster about to say something, and just as quickly Izaya knew he didn’t want to hear it. Already the ground beneath his feet was threatening to crumble, his world as he knew it vulnerable and disbanding all because Shizuo was looking at him like he didn’t hate him and that hand was still against his cheek and he could still taste traces of tobacco in his mouth and that was about all the unpredictable he could manage right now and this all just needed to _stop_. Stop before things changed.

_It’s not impossible, flea._

There was no going back. Things had _been_ changing, and Izaya could no longer pretend like he didn’t notice. 

There must’ve been something on his face, because Shizuo seemed to decide against saying whatever it was he was going to, the blond instead choosing to once again resume where they’d left off, the kiss somehow even more gentle than before and so much worse because of it.

Metallic and warm, Shizuo tasted the blood before he felt the pain, warm liquid pooling behind his lower lip and spilling onto his chin as their lips parted, his tongue bitten and pulsing. Immediately his hand moved from Izaya’s cheek to cover his mouth, caramel eyes meeting cagy crimson. 

And he knew better than to push Izaya when he was on the verge of some semi-psychotic breakdown as he so clearly was right now, but _fuck_ , Shizuo couldn’t just turn tail and run away when he wasn’t finished and wasn’t sure the flea really understood what had just happened. “Izaya, I—”

“Don't.” His voice held none of his usual arrogance, all self-assuredness absent in a gaze that was lingering on the cusp of absolute terror. “This was a mistake, ne. There’s nothing you need to say. Shizu-chan is simply an overexcited virgin and I should’ve known better.” 

“Flea, that’s—”

“Wrong?” It wasn’t amusement that darkened that gaze, something akin to nervousness straining the teasing cadence of his tone. “You’re not the only one that’s ever wanted to fuck me, Shizuo. I can’t say I’m not surprised all things considered, but—”

“ _Izaya_ —”

“—animals will rut against anything with a pulse and a hole, so why would you be any different?” 

_Cause you’re so much more than that_ were the words that he was too coward to say, the very air he was desperate to inhale feeling hot and tight in his chest, those uneasy ruby eyes putting a stopper on Shizuo’s ability to be completely honest because he didn’t want to know what the flea would look like if he really told him the truth. “You asked for this, flea.”

No, he didn’t. He demanded a kiss. _That_ was a whole lot more than just a kiss, and right now his mind was reeling through all of the terrifying explanations as to _why_.

_There just can’t be anyone else._

Izaya’s eyes cut to the pavement, and Shizuo knew that this conversation wasn’t going to happen. That Izaya didn’t want it to happen. 

That was okay. For now. In the end, this wasn’t the place he wanted to do it, and standing at knifepoint wasn’t the way he wanted to say it. But he would say it. Especially now that Izaya was probably going to figure it out at some point tonight or maybe tomorrow, he’d have to. 

A sigh broke the quiet, Shizuo absently wiping the crusted blood from his lip before slipping his hand into the pocket of his pants. “Alright, I’ll go.” 

Izaya remained quiet, that clever gaze reserved and downcast in a way that suggested his brain was working faster than his reaction knew how to keep up. It wasn’t until Shizuo had reached the turn that his eyes lifted to the blond’s form. “Shizuo.”

Shizuo paused, looked back. “Huh?”

“Say it, ne.” _Hate me._

There was something desperate burning in that crimson stare that was imploring just as much as it was frightened, and Shizuo knew exactly what it was Izaya wanted to hear. The thing was, he was tired of lying. To himself, to the flea, to everyone. 

And that slow burn of anxiety trembled and flourished into a bloom of well-founded fear when Shizuo’s gaze dropped to the ground and he said—

“I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…it’s been…some time since I last updated this story. Let me tell you, it’s been the biggest pain. I’m no longer sure at this point how many revisions this chapter has gone through. Chopped and edited and rewritten to hell and back. UGH. And I’m still not all that happy about it, but I just have to move on. 
> 
> It’s time for some Shizaya action. Hopefully you guys are as confused about Izaya’s feelings as he is. They’re pretty unclear, right? Hopefully? Maybe….? I see no point in dragging the whole Mari/Shizuo thing out when he knows and we know it’s not going anywhere. 
> 
> If you did enjoy it please review! As you can tell I’m a little…unsatisfied with this chapter. If you think it’s good the way it is, tell me! It’ll make me feel so much better and less insane. If it’s as bad as I feel it is, also tell me! But please be gentle. I’m sensitive and easily hurt… 
> 
> Anyway, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone that’s been reviewing/following my stories! This pairing is very special to me and I enjoy writing for them so much, so it makes me very happy to know there are others enjoying what I write. Thank you guys so much!
> 
> And a Happy New Year! Here’s to hoping Durarara S2 will have a trillion times more Shizaya moments than the first!!!!! 
> 
> xoxo  
>  **~Merry**


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